


this is interlude

by xxcaribbean



Category: One Direction (Band), Real Person Fiction
Genre: Abuse, Abuse of Authority, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Derogatory Language, M/M, References to Drugs, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-10 11:18:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 85,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2023146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxcaribbean/pseuds/xxcaribbean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>liam figured a gunshot wound, a mysterious stranger, and a clear sign of betrayal was enough excitement to last a lifetime. however, in the process of it all, he didn’t take into account the fact that what he thought he knew would be challenged, provoked, and possibly crushed, all because of a little four letter word that shouldn’t have even crossed his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. this is interlude

\-----

interlude. _noun._ an intervening episode, feature, or period of time.

\-----

There’s a strong smell of smoke that fills his nostrils. The scent is never-ending and causes his nose to scrunch up because he can nearly taste it in the back of his throat. His body threatens to hack up a cough at the unexpected feeling of a foreign taste, but he favors blinking his eyes open instead.

His vision is met, and as typical and cliché as this sounds, with a white ceiling. There are patterns, black dots, that dance across the white, and he hopes more than anything that it’s just a shit design and not actual mold that’s growing up there. There’s a brief moment where he studies them though, takes in the sizes of each and the way they’re laid out haphazardly. It’s also at this point where he tries to gain his bearings on where he is and why he’s laying on his back. He feels weightless the more he thinks about it. There’s nothing about him that aches; he just feels _there_. It’s clear, or rather unclear to him, that he’s in a bit of a daze, especially if he can’t make out what’s going on because it takes him more than a minute or two to finally grasp that there is still smoke wafting around his being.

Brown eyes flicker around. First to his left where he’s met with nothing but machines and an open window casting the brightness of the sun through the blinds. Then he glances to his right and finds a door that leads out of the room and several pink, plastic chairs lined up against the wall. A green plant sits in the corner too, and he wonders if it’s even real.

When his thoughts and eyes drift away from the plant, it’s then that he decides to look forward. It’s difficult, given that he’s resting almost flat on his back, but from what little he can see, he realizes he’s not alone in the room.

He’d jump, maybe, possibly, if he weren’t so out of it, drawing the conclusion that he’s probably doped up on painkillers or something that’s keeping his mind on the edge of darkness. His eyes feel twice as heavy given that he’s having to look down his nose towards the end of the bed just to make contact with his guest. Said guest, who really doesn’t actually look like they belong in a hospital anyways, is definitely not someone he knows personally. Well, unless he’s got amnesia or his brain is overly foggy, but he thinks he’s just slow because he’s just woken up, and it’s to be expected.

“Wh-” he starts, not really knowing how he’d managed to get his mouth open. He’s parched, throat dry and cracked, and even making that small of a noise feels like he’s been punched in the throat. But then the stranger raises a single eyebrow and glares down at him from his position.

“Shut the fuck up.”

And he’s happy to oblige.

The man, because it’s most definitely a man at the end of Liam’s bed - hey! he has a name; he remembers - brings up a cigarette to his mouth and sucks down what Liam thinks is ashyness. When the fag is pulled away from dried, cracked lips, the smoke is quickly released out of the side of that same mouth and into Liam’s room.

“I don’t-”

“I _said_ shut the fuck up. Bollocks, you’d think you hit your head or something.”

Liam blinks rapidly. He’d only meant to comment on the fact that he believes the hospital has a no-smoking policy, especially in the rooms of the patients, but clearly this guy means business, and Liam’s still too parched to even speak further than what he has already spoken. So instead of trying to talk, he turns his head to the side towards the nightstand to see if there’s a cup of water or something to quench his thirst.

There is, and Liam would really love to smile right about now, relieved at his fortune. But when he goes to move his arm to make a grab for the cup to help out his throat, there’s searing pain that shoots up his arm and causes him to cry out loud. He ends up gritting his teeth, face contorting into agony, and there’s suddenly a need to roll over and curl into a ball so he can wrap himself up in a safe haven away from the miserable way he’s suddenly feeling.

“Don’t fucking move either.”

If Liam could, he’d let out a curse, specifically directed at his guest. He doesn’t really know who he is, but what he does know is that he’s not making this any easier for Liam. (He’s not really making it any harder either considering he’s just standing at the end of the bed, but honestly, it wouldn’t hurt to help a poor fellow like Liam out, would it?)

“Here.”

Liam opens his eyes for the second time and finds that the stranger is now next him, on his right side. There’s still a cigarette in his hand, but there’s also the cup of water Liam couldn’t be happier to see. By now, the pain has softened into a dull throb, and when he reaches out to grab the cup, Liam’s careful to use the hand he hopes isn’t hurt. It’s the right that’s edging on pain, and the left that could be injured too.

It’s not, especially since Liam takes his time to find out by sluggishly moving his arm to grab the cup. There’s an inkling of worry that he’s okay with this person, with this stranger being in his room, but Liam doesn’t care right now, doesn’t mind the fact that this lad continues to eye him as if Liam might attack.

As soon as Liam’s hand nears the cup, hazel eyes flicker down to the movement. The cup is quickly snatched out of Liam’s grasps, and the man in his room tilts his head and smirks. “Right; you need this.”

Liam frowns, not quite sure what’s going on. Yes, Liam needs the fucking water. His throat is demanding it, and now this guy wants to play games? It’s clear he doesn’t work at the hospital; otherwise he’d probably have a few more morals than smoking in a patient’s room, let alone withholding something as essential as water. His outfit, as Liam quickly takes in what he can see, is also something to take into consideration give that Liam only spots a gray undershirt and a black leather jacket covering a lanky body.

“You listen here...”

Liam trails his eyes up from where he’d been staring into orbs that look as if they’re framed by kohl pencil. It wouldn’t surprise Liam any, given that this male has an eloquent taste in jewelry and style of clothing. It works well together, including the way his black hair is set into that of a quiff, several necklaces hanging around his neck, and even a small pair of earrings dangling from his ears.

Liam doesn’t even want to know about the myriad of tattoos he can see peeking out from underneath the clothing.

He makes another grab at the water. It’s a quick decision, but he’s too slow, and the cup is pulled away again, only further until it’s sitting right back where Liam had first seen it. He has to control himself from whining at this point because fuck, this isn’t fair, and he’s not in the mood for this shit. He’s in pain; his throat is scratchy, and his body hurts, and maybe it’s just whatever medicine he’s on - or should be on given the pain in his shoulder - but it makes Liam want to cry.

“Tell your boy Niall that what he did today was fucking idiotic because it nearly got his friend killed, you hear?” The stranger takes a moment to narrow his eyes and brings a hand forward to cup the side of Liam’s face, holding it still as Liam glares. He tries to pull away at first but then those fingers clench tightly around his jaw, holding him in place. “Do you fucking understand?” The man with no name leans forward into Liam’s face. He gets close, but not enough for him to have double vision. “He owes a lot of money to some very mean people, and I can’t save his ass if he decides to send in a liability to do his dirty work.”

The man scrutinizes Liam hard, or at least that’s what it feels like. He’s hurting Liam at this point by squeezing his face, but he just tries to quirk his lips into something akin to a smile or some verifiable evidence that he’s listening and will be having a word with his friend.

“Looks like you’re in this too though. I’ll be seeing you around at some point, I’m sure.” The stranger suddenly pulls back, releasing his hold on Liam before he pats the side of Liam’s reddening cheek twice. Liam flinches, feeling absolutely uncomfortable because now not only is the smoke from before as strong as ever, but there’s the smell of whiskey and cologne and the fact that his face throbs too.

Liam’s guest watches him for a second or two before finally reaching over and picking up the cup full of water again. He brings it down towards Liam, and Liam, being dull and trusting regardless of being threatened, makes the mistake of reaching for it. Although again, it’s pulled back from his grasp.

There’s a kind of sardonic smile that graces the beauty before him, but Liam’s too far gone to give a fuck about anything right now. He just wants his damn water and wants to know what the fuck Niall has to do with all of this. It’s clear that whatever it is, it leads this man to purposefully seek Liam out and is also the ultimate the reason for Niall screwing Liam over enough to land him in the hospital.

“You’ll make sure to tell him for me, right?”

Liam looks away for a second or two before nodding. At this point, he’ll do anything to get the man to leave him alone. His response also seems to be something pleasant and acceptable for his guest because when Liam looks back up, the smile has softened, and there’s something familiar there, something like kindness that lingers within those eyes.

“Good, or I’ll come looking for him myself. Take care of yourself, Liam.”

He gets a shiver down his spine when his name is said, but then the cup is in Liam’s hand and said stranger is backing away, heading towards the door to exit. He pauses though, as Liam eyes him, hand gripped tightly around the cup of water. The stranger stubs out his cigarette into the potted plant Liam had noticed earlier, and any other time Liam might’ve protested, but his gaze then leaves his guest in favor of his water, to where he tries his best to lift his head up without jostling any other part of his body so he can finally take a sip.

It’s refreshing when the liquid slides down his throat, enough so that he blocks out everything else - including what just happened - until his throat feels slightly better. The only other thing that Liam doesn’t end up ignoring though, and it’s not because it’s eating away at his thoughts, is the fact that his water faintly tastes of ash.

+

Two things happen when Liam finally gets home from the hospital. The first thing is that Liam immediately goes to his room and falls back onto his bed, careful of his bandaged shoulder he’d been told to keep an eye on in case something happened and the wound ended up infected. The second thing, Liam notices, is that Niall ignores him. It’s only briefly, but Liam thinks it’s odd, and although they’re more acquaintances than friends given they share a flat together because Liam can’t afford this place on his own, he also assumes that maybe Niall would be a little more caring.

It’s not until about two days afterwards, when Liam’s done nothing but sleep and try to get back into his old routine, does Niall finally seek him out.

His cheeks are flushed, eyes blue and a little glazed, and if Liam didn’t know any better, he’d think the lad was high. “Do you need something?” Liam asks as he pulls himself up, resting his back against a pillow.

Niall stands in the doorway, leaning against it. His straw blonde hair is a mess, and he looks as tired as Liam had felt in the hospital. “Yeah,” he shrugs. “Just wanted to say ‘m sorry for what happened and that I didn’t come to see ya. Been a bit busy here.”

Liam can only nod, debating on whether or not he should continue this conversation as it’s going, or if he should bring up what he knows or rather what he’d been told to say to Niall. It’s a difficult decision because Liam feels that he’d gotten in between something. It should be obvious given that he’d been shot, but there are secrets here and while Liam’s not had much time to think about it in favor of familiarity, he’s certain that something’s going on under his nose.

“It’s alright,” Liam replies, waving Niall off. “I think I was out of it anyway. Would’ve been pointless to come and see me.”

“Good. That’s good.” Niall smiles until he realizes how his words sounded. “Not that this thing is any good but that you weren’t angry at me for, you know-”

Liam chuckles, “Niall, calm down.”

And the other lad does considerably. He looks like wants to leave the room then, even going so far as to take a step backwards, but then he rethinks his entire decision in favor of walking further into Liam’s room. “Do ya know who shot ya?”

Liam sees the Irishman visibly swallow. He also can’t look Liam straight in the eye, and there’s a part of Liam that wants to say that Niall looks shaken. “No. They said they couldn’t find any evidence really, like this was carefully planned out or something.”

“And the police?” Niall’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline, bringing his gaze back over to Liam’s.

Liam can only shrug with his good shoulder. “They visited me after surgery, but I don’t think I gave them anything useful considering I was out of it then too. Also said they’d call me afterwards for some follow up questions, but it’s not like I know anything that’d be useful.”

The blonde runs his fingers through his hair while he stands there and thinks. Liam just watches as he does so, keenly interested in what this is all about. “Is there a reason you’re asking?” He begins to shift on his bed, trying to wheedle his way out from under the comforter.

“Not really, just wondered.”

And Liam can tell it’s a lie straight off the bat. The look on Niall’s face is one of guilt and relief, but Liam also gets the sense that he’s going to have to be careful about the way he goes about this. This entire ordeal is fishy, and while Liam hadn’t gotten the chance to think much on his circumstance; the fact that he got shot out of the blue for no particular reason is a little unsettling. Liam’s not familiar with people who own guns, nor does he associate himself with people who make it a habit of getting into too much trouble. There’re his friends from back home that’d gotten into what most teenagers did at the time, a bit of weed and stolen beer, but Liam’s never dealt with this kind of stuff before. Certainly a gunshot wound to the shoulder was the last thing on the list of things he’d wanted to experience in his life.

Before Liam can make another attempt to ask what’s going on, Niall quickly darts out of the room, leaving Liam confused and a little apprehensive. He gets up slowly, wanting to follow Niall but also just to get up and walk around seeing as he’s mostly stuck to his bedroom ever since he’d been back. By the time he gets into the living room though, Niall’s not there. Liam can hear the clattering of someone moving about in Niall’s room and immediately knows that he’s in there. He decides to head for the kitchen instead, wanting to make himself something to eat and working his mind through what he wants to say.

He’s got his sandwich made by the time Niall appears again. Liam can tell he looks scatterbrained, and as he takes a bite of his food, Niall sits himself down on the couch and furiously writes something down on a pad of paper Liam hasn’t seen before. There’s a phone in his hands too, where he’s scrolling through a list of some sorts, but Liam’s too far away to look at what it’s about.

“Niall,” Liam says, gaining the other boys attention for a split second. “I’ve a message for you actually.”

Those deep blue eyes end up narrowing before tearing their gaze away from the notepad. “Oh? Is it mail?”

But Liam shakes his head, setting down his sandwich and making his way around the little island bar in order to see his friend a little more clearly. “I didn’t have any visitors at the hospital save for one now that I think about it. I’m pretty sure he knew you.”

Niall squints an eye before he looks forward. He’s thinking, running his mind through a list of people they must mutually know. That list is short and pretty much non-existent save for the one or two people Liam’s met when they’ve gone out drinking together down at the local pub.

There’s a bob in Niall’s throat from swallowing before he huffs and looks down at his paper. “Really?”

The muscles in Liam’s cheek tighten as he clenches his jaw. He ends up making his way over to the living room, sitting down in a single chair across from the couch. He’s sure he’s not being as subtle about this as he’d like to be, but right now, while this is pressing on his mind, he’d rather not lose it. “Yeah, he said that you had something to do with this, maybe? That you owed some people some money and that he can’t protect you if you continue to screw up.” Liam’s bottom lip finds itself between his teeth as he waits for an answer. He also decides to throw in, “I’m not quite sure what’s going on, but it sounds a bit urgent. Do I need to be worried?”

Niall halts his movements entirely; his breathing evens out to very slow, calculated movements, and Liam wants to reach out and push at his shoulder just to make sure he’s still there. “Niall?”

“Did he give you a name?”

Surely Liam should be taken aback that Niall knows whoever it was in his room. He reeked of danger, and Liam still remembers the smell of smoke, the way the scent seemed to follow him around regardless of the lit cigarette he carried in his hand. He’d been precise, very demanding in his ways and someone Liam wasn’t sure he wanted to be around.

“No, he didn’t.”

Niall looks up slowly, layers of his hair shifting so that it frames the top portion of his face. It’s not directly in his eyes, but it creates an effect that has Liam startled. “Is that all he told you?”

A pink, wet tongue darts itself across Liam’s lips as he thinks back to the moment he’d been desperate for water. Mostly the words are obscured by now because it’s been days since it’d happened, but Liam does remember something else. “He said that I’m in this too, that I may see him again. Niall, I don’t know what’s going on, and I hate to assume you’re in any kind of trouble, but who is he and what does he mean? What does he want?” His voice goes a bit frantic, which is the last thing Liam wanted because then Niall’s sitting back, placing the phone down onto his notepad and gathering up his things before he stands. “I’m sorry!” Liam says quickly, not meaning to frighten him off, but Niall shakes his head and looks pointedly at Liam.

“Don’t be, Liam. This isn’t anyone’s fault, okay? And whatever he told you, you ignore it.” Niall blinks once before straightening himself and walking away. Just before he gets to the small hallway that leads to his room, he turns around quickly to glance back at Liam. “It doesn’t concern you now, and you won’t ever have to see him again.”

But as Liam watches Niall disappear behind the wall of their apartment, where he eventually hears the door close to his room, Liam can’t help but believe that this does involve him now. This isn’t just about Niall and what kind of mess he’s in because whatever it is that Niall is hiding, and whatever it is the stranger had talked about back in Liam’s hospital room, well, it had gotten him shot.

So if Liam’s being honest, he thinks he has every right to know and has every right to be concerned. Especially if his life might is on the line.

+

The first time Liam steps out of his house after coming home from the hospital, he has plans to get his life back on track and into complete routine again. He ends up meeting his boss at the local coffee shop to see when he’ll be able to get back to work, and then later he goes to meet a few of his professors to discuss what he had missed and if there’s a chance to make up any of it in time. It’s eventful, if not boring, but it’s Liam’s life and the thrill, for lack of a better word, that had surrounded him because of the shooting has slowly worn off.

It’s that day that Liam also notices something really different, like something is off. He can’t pinpoint what it is exactly, and nothing sets him off until after he’s done running his errands, and he’s making his way out to his car to finally head back to the apartment. There’s a curious looking stranger standing alarmingly close to his vehicle. It’s a cheap thing, nothing too exciting to steal from considering Liam’s a poor college student who’s trying to make ends meet. At first he thinks that maybe they’re waiting on something and one of the surrounding cars belongs to them, but that idea is quickly debunked when Liam specifically sees them snooping around his car.

Liam can’t say he doesn’t grow nervous because he does. His breathing, as much as he hates to admit, gets heavy; his hands curl into fists by his side while he figures it’d be best to head back inside long enough to wait this out. But as he continues approaching the car, his footsteps get louder and said stranger looks up. Liam’s only able to take in a quick glance of brown hair before they’re walking away, and as much as he’d like to call out and ask them what the fuck they’re doing **,** Liam’s ready to go home.

But that’s not the only event that occurs. His shoulder likes to throb at various points throughout the day as a strict reminder of what happened to him, and although he knows it was through no fault of his own, it doesn’t mean he isn’t on edge because of it. Anytime Liam’s out, he feels strange. Sometimes he thinks he’s being followed and other times he feels like there are eyes on him. He’s waiting for the next moment where his body will jolt and another searing pain will take over him, but nothing of the sort happens. Liam’s left alone for the most part but not entirely either **.**

During this, Liam also observes Niall’s behavior. He watches his friend a little more closely to see if maybe he’ll slip up somewhere. At this point, Liam knows with all of his heart that something is going on, and he’s being left in the dark. Which is why - and it’s something he’d never do to anyone else, but he figures he has a reasonable excuse now - he decides to rifle through Niall’s things as soon as he’s left the apartment. Anytime the Irishman leaves, Liam’s up and going through his belongings.

He finds nothing, at first. He looks through his books, through his drawers, even resorts to digging through his clothes just to see if maybe there’s concrete evidence left behind, but he comes up empty-handed. He never gets caught either. Liam’s sure to put everything back in place, and even if Niall does grow suspicious, he never calls Liam out on possibly going through his stuff.

So one evening, when Liam’s out working the night shift and busy filling orders, he happens to glance out of the window where two strangers stand out on the corner of the street. They look like they’re talking under one of the lampposts, where it shines down directly on them, but all Liam can see is them wearing black. He tries to pay attention to customers who think they need a bit of coffee this late at night and those people outside, not quite sure why they’ve caught his attention. But the more he focuses his gaze on the two, the more it looks like they’re in an argument.

It goes on for about another twenty seconds before they split. One is heading down the opposite end of the street and the other is heading down the cafe’s sidewalk. Liam smiles though, hands the cup over to the waiting customer before taking their money and returning his attention outside. Just as he does so, Liam catches the person’s interest. They stare at Liam as they walk, curly brown hair and big green eyes blink his way. It’s like one of those scenes in a movie that’s in slow motion, where two strangers are eyeing each other up as one walks past. Liam feels his whole world shift when he gets a smile through the windows of the shop. It’s a smirk, something that describes him knowing a lot more than Liam does, and it’s difficult to stop the shiver that runs over his entire body as he looks away and realizes that he needs answers.

Liam needs something other than strange occurrences and the feeling of his death on the horizon.

+

“Niall?” Liam shouts as soon as the door closes behind him. He swears, Niall better be home, otherwise Liam will be staying up however goddamn late he needs to in order to talk to him.

“Yeah?”

The response comes from down the hall, and Liam makes his way into Niall’s room. He’s on the computer, a pad of paper resting just under his hand as he takes a few notes. Liam’s tempted to ask what the fuck he’s doing, but right now that’s not his main concern.

“Either this is just a coincidence or you have some explaining to do,” Liam snaps.

Niall turns from his work to look at Liam. He’s sitting at his desk so all he has to do is change his position in the chair he’s sitting on. “What are ya going on about?”

“Look, I accepted your half-assed answer the other day about that person in my room, but this is ridiculous.”

“Can’t help you, Liam, if you don’t tell me what it is you’re talking about.” Niall’s eyes narrow, face turning serious.

Liam licks his lips before stepping further into the room. He finds a place to stand with his back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest so it’ll give him a feeling of confidence here. “Some weird things have been going on, and I haven’t exactly looked into them, but all of this started when I got shot.” Liam chuckles sardonically. Of course he’s had time to think about the entire event, and why would he, out of all people, be the one to end up with a bullet wound? Whoever shot him hadn’t meant to kill him, but it still irks Liam that it even happened. The police, try as they might, have had no leads and have pretty much chalked it up to Liam being unlucky. “And now, as fucking crazy as it seems, I’m being watched.”

Niall’s brow creases considerably, and he almost looks taken aback. “What makes you think that?”

“You ever get that feeling like someone’s watching you? Like they’re just staring until you turn around, and no one’s there? That’s how I feel every time I leave this goddamn place.”

“And you expect me to have answers?” Niall counters.

Liam rakes his eyes over him, taking in the way that Niall’s posture is a little more rigid than normal. His hand is curled tightly around the top of the chair, turning the skin a dull red color from holding on tightly. “Yeah, I do. You acknowledged that you knew that person in my room, and none of this happened until _after_ the incident.”

Niall does more than breathe out heavily; he stands up and runs a hand over his face. He looks tired, completely drained if Liam’s honest. “Liam, I can’t do this right now.”

Brown eyes widen at the man in question because what the hell? “ _You_ can’t do this? _You_? Seriously?” Liam shakes his head, pushing himself off the wall and closer to Niall. “You haven’t seen it, have you?”

Niall doesn’t look scared, but Liam can see that he leans back a bit when he gets closer. “What?” he gulps.

“My wound.” Liam quickly grabs a hold of the sleeve on his shirt, pushing it up as far as it will go before pulling it over to the side so that more flesh is exposed. It’s a very interesting thing to see. Liam’s poked and prodded at it with care. It marks his body now, a scar that will never go away. It’s like a half a circle has imprinted itself into his skin, creating a concave effect rather than a smooth surface his flesh is supposed to have. The area around it is still tender. It’s red and blotchy, and something Liam wishes he didn’t have. “This.” He points. “Whatever it is you’re into, you best believe I will find out, even if I have to go searching for it myself.”

The Irishman blinks, continuing his gaze upon Liam’s shoulder until Liam finally pulls away from the shirt and lets it fall back into place. Niall looks away from his friend completely, slightly shaking his head while doing so. “I’d advise against that.”

Liam snorts, face pulling up into disbelief. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Liam,” Niall says loudly. It’s not a shout, but he snaps his head around and glares at the other man. “You listen to me, okay? You keep your mouth shut, and you let me take care of this. I’ll look into whatever the hell it is that’s going on, but don’t you _dare_ do anything different than what you’ve been doing. Normalcy is your friend.” Niall inhales deeply but looks overwhelmed nonetheless. His eyes scream at Liam to do as he’s asking, and while Liam hears the plea, he’s not quite sure if he can.

“Liam,” Niall begins, voice low but soft in use. His shoulders fall, and it’s not hard to see that he looks defeated. “Please do me this one favor, and listen to me. I know I haven’t been forthcoming, but with what’s going on now, it doesn’t involve you.”

Liam gives Niall a pointed look, and he clicks his tongue.

“It _shouldn’t_ involve you. It won’t anymore. Let me take care of this.”

And before Liam can say anything more, Niall’s turning around, grabbing his phone off his desk and shutting the laptop. He leaves the paper out in the open though, and Liam wonders if there really is anything important written, but Niall doesn’t give it any attention. Instead, he gives Liam one last look before pushing past him, walking out of the room and leaving Liam standing there. He hears the front door open and shut, and Liam wonders if this is Niall’s way of being open, purposefully leaving Liam here alone with nothing but his will.

He knows Niall trusts him though, thinks he’s incredibly in the dark. In fact, he hadn’t even asked Liam for details about being watched, and the more that Liam thinks about that, he’s more inclined to believe that Niall knows exactly what the fuck it’s about. Hell, he’d even given a direct admission that there’s more to this, that he’s involved. The real question is why he doesn’t want Liam to know and why he’s begging Liam to stay out of it.

Liam ends up leaving the room without looking around. It’s the perfect opportunity, but he also figures that Niall left him to his own devices for a reason. He ends up going back to his room, ignoring everything else save for the comfort of his bed and wondering where the hell Niall decided to go this late at night.

He ends up lying down with various scenarios running through his mind just before he falls asleep.

+

It’s rare when Liam ends up waking up in the middle of the night, but when he does it’s usually for miniscule things like opening his window because it’s just too hot or to relieve himself in the bathroom from drinking before. Other than those few occurrences, Liam’s a pretty heavy sleeper, out like a light for the next six or seven hours. He’s not quite sure how he does it, but he remembers it getting him into trouble when he was still in grade school because his alarm barely woke him up at all.

The thing is, when Liam blinks his eyes open and is met with darkness, he wonders why he’s even up. It’s perfectly fine, he believes at first, because he can always turn over on his side and fall back to sleep easily enough, but there’s a voice that drifts down the hall that immediately has Liam on alert.

“I said I don’t fucking know.”

Liam slowly removes the comforter off of himself before sitting up and trying to climb out of bed without making it squeak.

“Look, you can’t just do this. He’s already asking questions, and this wasn’t the plan.”

It goes silent, and Liam halts, wanting to wait until Niall’s voice is louder before he moves lest he make a noise he wouldn’t be able to cover up.

“How the fuck should I know? I didn’t ask him to explain what happened, and even then, it’s clear that he’s not just seeing things.”

Liam moves forward quickly again, all the way to his bedroom door. Most nights he keeps it shut all the way, but tonight he’s thankful that that hadn’t been the case. Currently it’s sitting half way open, where a pool of light travels into the room. Liam stands in the darkness, shielding himself behind the door but close enough so that he can peek around if need be.

“Yeah, I took care of it. They won’t be around for another month, so there’s that.”

Within every pause Liam wonders whom Niall’s talking to and what they’re saying on the other end of the line. It doesn’t help to only hear one side of the conversation, and even with hearing that, it’s all very cryptic.

“They shouldn’t come after him again. Like I said, I got it in - it wasn’t on time, but I did, and they won’t come looking until next month, just like I promised. All I need from you is to lay low and not mess with things.”

Liam breathes in through his nose and lets the air out through his mouth. His heart is beating so quickly in his chest, and more than anything he wants to go out there and confront Niall, but he’s sure the first thing he’d end up doing is hanging up the phone and ending their conversation right then and there. By what Liam had tried to get out of him last time, it hadn’t given him anything, and by the looks of things, Niall’s not willing to admit anything else.

It’s just, one thing is definitely certain now: Niall’s in trouble, and Liam knows that he himself had been accidentally involved when he shouldn’t have been. Whatever is going on, he was never meant to find out about it nor was he meant to enter the game Niall’s playing.

“I’m tryin’, okay? I am, but it’s difficult when I’m already working my ass off enough as it is. Just promise me that you’ll leave him alone, and I’ll continue with what I promised. I get my next paycheck two weeks from now; you’ll have it all in cash.”

There’s a few more words exchanged, mostly hums of approval until Liam hears the goodbyes exchanged and Niall flop down onto the couch. Liam ends up standing there for a bit longer, knowing that tonight’s conversation is over with, but it has his mind further swirling with a whole slew of scenarios. His shoulder also aches, and while Liam moves it around, there’s a sinking feeling in his stomach. He’s at a loss for what to do now. Liam doesn’t know if Niall had been talking about him or whomever else he may know, but Liam can’t say he’s not worried. Niall and him are friends, kind of. They talk and get along, and maybe it’s just Liam’s natural instinct to be worried about other people because they’re human just like him.

But this is all confusing. And it’s a bit weird, and everything within Liam, especially after hearing the half conversation of Niall on the phone, tells him that he should lay low and not do a damn thing about what’s going on. Still though, the strange events in his life - which can only be accounted for three things: him being shot, feeling like he’s being followed with some absolute stranger acknowledging his presence at the coffee shop, and Niall acting suspicious - cannot be denied. They’re there resting in the front of Liam’s mind, and he has a battle of will going on within himself. He can be a good Samaritan and help, or he could do the responsible thing and leave fate to decide for them all.

Without a decision, Liam quickly gets back into bed. It’s easy to fall asleep again, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t restless.

+

Liam loses track of time as he completes various assignments for school and in between working at the coffee shop. Although he’s working full time there as it is (with his days off scheduled according to his classes because the owner is nice enough to tell that Liam’s hard working and wants him to focus on school as much as he can), he tries to take on as many extra shifts as he can. It’s busy, and Liam feels like he’s never home, but the cash accumulating in his bank account - what little there is of it - settles his mind.

It also means that anything he’d been worried about before takes a backseat on his list of things to do. It’s not that Liam doesn’t still try to acquire information, sometimes staying up late at night just to see if Niall makes another call, but for the most part, nothing happens. It goes nowhere, and whatever issues Niall faces, they don’t interfere with Liam’s life.

So with that happening, he figures it’s safe to assume that that phone call he’d heard about three weeks ago had indeed been about him. Liam still hasn’t been able to piece together some parts of the conversation, but it does him good to know that he doesn’t feel like he’s being followed anymore.

However, just as Liam’s settling into a routine without having to worry about his roommate as much as he had before, he comes home one day a bit early only to find Niall on the couch, bottles of beer littering the coffee table. The blonde is staring at the tv. It’s on mute, and he blinks every so often, a sure sign that he’s not dead.

Niall doesn’t even hear Liam walk through the door until he sets his backpack down full of textbooks and makes his way into the living room.

“Couldn’t clean up?” Liam quips.

Niall’s head lolls back so that he can stare up at Liam. The sides of his mouth quirks up, but his eyes, normally a nice and rich shade of blue, look dull. “Liam,” he slurs.

And he’s drunk.

“Niall, what’s going on with you?” Liam moves some of the empty beer cans so that he can sit on the little coffee table in front of Niall, blocking the tv from his vision. During this time, he spots a larger bottle of what looks like whiskey hidden behind the side of the couch.

“I’m as good as dead, Liam.” He sounds so pitiful when he speaks. “I don’t want you to miss me when m’gone, okay?” He shakes his head slowly, frown now replacing that half smile from before. “Don’t do it. Also,” he holds up his pointer finger, “you be careful. Careful, Liam. You’re always so careful.” He chuckles, reaching forward to pat Liam’s cheek, who only tries to duck away from the touch. Instead, Niall’s hand lands on his shoulder until Liam’s able to remove it and let it rest in Liam’s own.

“You’re talking nonsense,” Liam says, but he’s not quite sure if that’s the truth.

“Nope.” There’s a heavy emphasis on the end of the word, where Niall closes his eyes and scoots down further onto the couch.

“How about we get you to bed, yeah?”

Niall only nods before Liam’s standing up and helping Niall to his feet. He wobbles around, not able to stand still, so Liam has to wrap his arm around Niall’s waist and haul him into his room. When they get there, he helps Niall into bed and waits to see if he has anything else to say; he doesn’t. At least not until Niall’s hand swings up and points over at his desk. Liam follows his line of vision and sees the exact same scene from when he’d confronted Niall in the room. His laptop is shut, but there’s that same pad of paper—nothing looks out of place.

“What is it, Niall?” Liam asks, leaning over the bed slightly so that Niall can better peer up at Liam.

“If I’m not there, they’re gonna come looking for me. And either way I’m-” Niall cuts himself off, and Liam watches him bring a hand up to his neck before making a slicing motion. He hiccups out a laugh before burying his face into one of his pillows.

But Liam can’t have him pass out yet. What the hell is he even talking about? “Niall?” Liam reaches out and pats the side of his face. “C’mon, Niall.” His voice is soft and light, and he hopes that the friendly tone will have the lad trusting him enough to spill the truth in his drunken stupor. “If you don’t tell me, I can’t help you out.”

Niall blinks his eyes open slowly, and for a moment Liam thinks he’s just going to pass out again until Niall visibly swallows and opens his mouth to speak. “Five hundred. That’s all.”

Liam gets frantic, patting the side of Niall’s face again and hanging on to the front of his shirt in order to lift him up so there’s no way he can be comfortable. “You’re going to have to give me more than that!”

Niall sighs, face nuzzling into Liam’s hand. “That’s all I’m worth, but I can’t find the rest so I’m _dead_.” He breathes contentment as Liam slowly lowers him back down onto the bed. “Thought I’d get a bit drunk. That’s gotta be a nice way to go, right? Drunk without a care in the world!”

Some of those words are slurred, but even then that’s not what’s bothering Liam. This isn’t some silly joke like Niall, in his drunkenness, is making. If what he’s saying is true, and Liam has no fucking proof if it even is, then this is some serious shit.

Niall looks completely gone by the time Liam snaps back to reality. He tries prodding him to see if maybe he’s waiting on Liam, but he doesn’t move, eyes clothes and breathing even. So Liam huffs, runs a hand through his hair before remembering that Niall had given him something, a clue of some sorts about the trouble he’s in.

He quickly strides over to the desk and doesn’t bother with the laptop just yet, favoring the yellow pad of paper instead. It’s blank the first page, which worries Liam because he can’t do anything if there isn’t any information to be found, but what he does instead is pick it up and quickly flip through the pages.

Liam finds nothing written on the first pieces of paper. It’s all blank yellow paper with blue lines running across it. It takes a good ten seconds to finally flip back far enough only to find scratchy handwriting all over the place. Most of it makes no sense to Liam and as soon as he figures that the first page won’t help him out, he flips it over and reads the next. It goes on like this for another two pages until Liam comes across big handwriting. Liam’s not familiar with Niall’s handwriting, but he’s seen him write all over these kind of pages before so surely this must be his too.

Across the top half of the paper, there are different numbers listed out. All of them save for the last number - which reads five hundred, just as Niall had said moments ago - are crossed out. Liam can make out each of them individually but what matters is that there’s three thousand on the first line with numbers getting lower and lower until again, five hundred is written out.

It’s circled too, but Liam doesn’t know what it means. It’s the only thing taking up this page, but Liam rips it out and places it on the desk so he can make a stack of papers in case he needs to rip out anymore. He continues flipping through the pages, not finding much else. There are a few other places where those same numbers are written out again except the five hundred and is crossed out. Those pages are also dated while the one Liam ripped isn’t. The further Liam goes, the more he can feel his heart sink because those numbers obviously mean money. Liam doesn’t know what for or why, but apparently there’s a large sum of cash owed if people are after Niall for this.

When Liam finally gets to the very last page, his heart is in his throat. He flips the last page over and is met with the cardboard that helps support someone while their writing, and although Liam would dismiss that piece, it’s then that he finds dark, black writing on the brown. It’s an address, Liam figures. He doesn’t know where it’s located, but underneath there are more words scratched out that read _always meet here_.

Liam almost throws the notepad back down onto the desk but he stops himself when he glances over at Niall. He’s asleep, air puffing out from behind his lips as he breathes out and nostrils flaring the tiniest bit when he breathes in. And as Liam looks on at him, at someone he barely knows but chose as his roommate because Niall seemed like a carefree, easy going lad. Liam knows that if this threat is real, he’s going to have to do something about it.

It’s easier going to the police, he thinks. But even then this could just be some petty fight he’s having against a friend. And even as Liam tries to reason and give a plausible excuse, something else tells him that this is much worse than it is. Whatever Niall is keeping to himself, well, Liam wants answers, and the only way that’s going to happen if he’s still alive to give them to Liam.

So he makes a very dumb decision. He grabs the notebook and the piece of paper and carries it with him to his room, where he searches in his closet for a hooded jacket and what’s left of his sanity.

+

Two hours roll around and there isn’t a sign of anyone on this dimly lit street. Liam is more than anxious; his stomach rolls and his hands shake with the fact that he’s even fucking doing this. His jacket pocket feels heavy. It’s where he’s keeping his hand and the money he’d taken out of his bank account. Liam’s not quite sure what he’s looking for or who he’s looking for either. All he’s done so far is get the money, find the address, and wait.

The sun is setting, and Liam figures he’ll have to leave soon. It’s quite plausible that no one will end up meeting him here tonight. The thought of him going home to an apartment and finding Niall’s dead body doesn’t sound all that appealing either, so he just prays that something will happen soon. He’s normally not like this and has vowed that if anyone he ever knows gets into a terrible situation again, he’s not going to be helping them out because this is enough to give him a heart attack.

Just as the sun dips down into the sky for the next few hours, where the moon shines bright, that’s when Liam hears the first sign of footsteps. He’s seen people walking down this street earlier in the day, smiled at them politely and hoped that they hadn’t thought he was bad news. But even then, he’s sure they had been able to tell that Liam had no clue what he was doing then, just like Liam literally has no clue what the fuck he’s doing now because the only thing on his mind is Niall, and to be fair, Liam thinks he’s going to regret this later on.

There’s a clicking of the tongue that causes Liam to spin around. He finds a group of about four guys heading his way. They’re veiled in the darkness, so it’s difficult to make them out until they draw closer, but Liam spots that three out of the four have hoods covering their head anyway. Liam quickly does that too though. He’s had some time to think over how this is going to go, but when it comes down to it, he just going to wing it.

As soon as they approach him, two of them pass Liam and head off behind him. He thinks they may be scoping out the place, but he doesn’t dare turn his gaze away from the other two that are glaring at him. The man who has his hood off looks innocent enough. Liam can’t quite read him very well, but he’s got brown eyes and brown hair and looks like the typical male.

But the closer he examines him, raking his eyes over his entire frame, he finds the males pasture rigid, completely tense and eyes alight with a hatred that Liam doesn’t think he’s ever come in contact with before.

“Here’s hoping you have what I’m looking for.”

The way his lips move are distracting to Liam in the way that it makes him uncomfortable. He looks shady, very, very unsafe, and Liam would be lying if he said his heart wasn’t about to beat out of his chest. “Yes,” Liam says quickly. He keeps his voice a bit low and doesn’t make the mistake of speaking further. Instead he reaches into his pocket, feeling the glare of the male in front of him, eyeing him carefully lest he try something.

The money is the only thing Liam has on him, and it’s all in large bills. It’s also wrapped up in an envelope, where the bills are neat and in order. He’d been careful enough to take the bus here and not use his car too. He also felt better leaving his wallet at home with some extra cash stuffed inside his shoe.

As soon as the money is taken from his grasp, the lad in front of him opens it up and counts it carefully. He does so out loud, which has Liam nervous because although the bank is supposed to be good with numbers, his mind is out of it and scared that he may end up short.

“It’s all there.” The envelope is closed again and lifted up over his shoulder so that the man with the hood on grabs it. Liam watches as it disappears for good.

“We done?” Liam speaks, hoping to that the answer will be yes.

But apparently not because then he’s shoved backwards into the waiting arms of one of the men who had gone behind him. As this happens, his hood falls back, and the brown eyes that belong to the man in front of him, widen considerable. “Oh,” he starts. “Look at who we have here.”

And Liam doesn’t think that’s a good thing that they know who he is. He hadn’t thought he’d be able to pass as Niall, but he figured he could get away with playing stranger, someone on Niall’s behalf. Now they just look angry, and realizes the potential situation he’s put himself in. “You have your money now, so let’s not do this,” Liam suggests as he’s brought back up into an upright position. His arms are being held tightly around his back, where the entire front of him his exposed. It takes a second or two before it clicks just what’s about to happen before a fist is met with his stomach.

Liam doubles over, groaning out in pain, but he’s still held up by the hands encircling his arms. He’d like to cradle his stomach, but it’s left to settle on its own, pain blooming out across his body. As soon as he’s settled and is able to catch his breathe again, another fist is planted in the same area as the first, which leaves Liam on the ground this time. They let him go, dropping him so he hits the pavement hard enough to knock out any air that Liam had managed to accumulate. His head feels swollen, hot with the rush of blood while his middle still aches.

He’s not given much time to recover again, his vision swirling before someone is kicking him over onto his back. A body straddles him then, coming to rest directly on his stomach where Liam knows there will be nasty bruises later. “Please,” Liam coughs. The light from the lamp above them shields his view of the man on top of him. He can clearly make out brown hair and menacing features but that’s about it.

A few snickers of laughter escape from these men’s throats. He can’t see them all, but he can feel them circle around his body while the man who is still straddling him reaches out a hand before something shiny is placed in it. His fingers grip around the piece, and Liam eyes it warily.

“Sending his little pet out because his own tail is between his legs, hmm?” The hand gets closer to Liam, and as it does so, he’s able to make out that it’s a knife he’s holding. He rotates it between fingers, playing with it to the point that Liam thinks he might drop it until he blinks, and it’s against his throat.

It nicks his skin because Liam can not only feel the pain, but liquid oozes out. He does his best not to swallow in fear of the knife going in any deeper. And while he’s in this position, given a moment or two to think, he realizes he’s way in over his head, and it’s clear now what Niall meant. He never should’ve come here, but even then, Niall would probably be dead. What’s one life for another?

Liam tries to keep it together, tries to keep his faced masked, but he knows the fear radiates from his body. “He doesn’t know,” he whispers.

A pair of eyebrows raise, head tilting forward. “What’s that?”

The knife is pulled back just a fraction, enough so that Liam’s still worried about it but it won’t slice him again if he speaks or moves his head around. “I’m helping him out,” Liam says, deciding to change his statement. He’s terrified, but even then he has to be careful about how he words what he means. Anything he says could be used against him or Niall at a later time, and it’s important that he keeps his talking to a minimal.

And even after those thoughts, Liam isn’t even sure if he’ll make it out of here alive.

“Right, well, that wasn’t in our agreement. So let me put it this way, just so we’re clear.” The knife is moved completely away from Liam’s neck, but then it finds it’s way against his cheek where the lad before him smiles and pets him with the knife. Liam doesn’t think he’s above begging for his life right now. “It’s the second time he hasn’t come through for us, and that’s just not acceptable.”

Liam licks his lips but nods. “And I get that. It makes sense, but maybe you should be taking it up with him and not me because I’m not sure what’s going on. I’m just here because he’s a bit out of it at the moment.” He rambles, probably revealing too much as he’d decided he shouldn’t do just a few moments ago, but again, Liam just wants to get out of here with both his life and his throat in tact.

The person above him, because that’s who Liam is most focused on right now, pulls back suddenly and looks around at his men before regarding Liam with discretion. “He hasn’t told you anything, has he?”

Liam rapidly shakes his head. “Swear to god.”

There’s a heavy breath and a few more looks exchanged before the man on top of Liam leans down with the knife presented clearly in his vision. “Okay then,” he starts. He licks the front of his teeth before the knife gets closer to Liam, creating a bit of double vision until it rests just on his temple again. “You best tell your boy that three strikes, and he’s out.” The blade nicks his skin, just towards the end of his eyebrow, and Liam winces.

It’s removed just as quickly, the coolness of the object disappearing from flesh. It’s then that Liam’s shirt is pulled back, and while he tries to scoot backwards so he can finally escape, he’s held down by another lad who keeps him still as his shoulder is exposed and studied with scrutiny.

“It’s him.”

In that moment, he’s let go completely. Even the male who’d been straddling him is now towering over Liam’s frame, but all Liam’s able to do is stay still, too scared to move right now and watching these men closely in case they decide to try something else.

“Remember what I said,” the lad with the plain features of dusty brown remarks. “Otherwise there’s going to be hell to pay.”

Liam’s side is met with one last kick before he’s left alone, swathed in darkness. He breathes out a shaky breath, throat thick and tears pooling at the edges of his eyes. He refuses to shed any now, wanting to be as far away from here as he can possibly get. He pays no attention to his pain, although when he sits up and stands so that he can walk back to the nearest bus stop, he hisses and clutches his stomach because it fucking hurts like hell.

The way home is silent and draining. He doesn’t get any odd stares save for the occasional glance or two given that it’s late at night and most people don’t take public transportation around here for safety reasons. But Liam’s already been through enough shit; fuck, he probably looks like it too.

When his bus stops at the closest rest area, where he’ll have to walk home the rest of the way, Liam gets off and heads straight for the apartment. In the meantime, he puts everything on replay within his mind, recalling it all in vivid detail. His hand finds the cut on his neck, poking around to see how deep the wound is. As soon as he pulls his hand back, his fingers are slathered in blood. He can also feel it on the side of his face, where the knife had gotten him just near his temple. A lot of it has crusted and dried, so it feels uncomfortable, but all Liam can ponder is whether or not any of this was worth it. Not only had Liam ended up beaten, but now he’s out of cash and is still left without any goddamn answers on what’s going on.

By the time he gets to the apartment, all Liam wants is a hot shower, some ibuprofen and a chance to sleep everyone off. Yet when he gets home, he finds someone rummaging around the kitchen. Blonde hair is what he spots first, ducked inside the refrigerator, and Liam almost has a moment where he reaches out and strangles Niall because what the fuck is this?

“You have _so much_ explaining to do,” Liam bites.

Niall is startled, hitting his head on the fridge as he pulls back to see who is in the room with him. As soon as he spots Liam, it looks like his shoulders relax, but then the tension is back in his features once he notices how Liam looks.

“What the fuck happened to you?”

Liam snorts and watches as Niall’s eyes take in his entire being. He’s probably covered in grit, blood on his face and throat while simultaneously looking and feeling like utter shit. “What do you think happened?” Liam’s eyebrows go up, and his face turns to one of inquiry because he really wants Niall to explain his. He’s every right to be peeved.

“Looks like you’ve been through the ringer.” Niall catches on to Liam’s tone, and the way he slowly enters the kitchen, taking step by step in order to get closer. The light illuminated the room is bright and doesn’t hide anything from Niall either, so he’s able to see exactly what’s going on with the other lad.

“No kidding,” Liam chuckles. He waves a hand in front of him before stopping and leaning on the counter. “But let’s not worry about me. Let’s talk about you!”

“Me?” The voice is light, extremely innocent, but Niall’s only fooling himself if that’s the case.

“Yeah, why don’t we talk about the fact that you’re not dead.”

Niall shakes his head, looking down at himself before quickly looking back up. Every so often he takes a step backwards just in case something goes down tonight because he can see the fire alight in Liam’s eyes. It’s not that he can’t say it’s never been there before, but it’s just never been directed at him. There’s a difference there, and Niall does not want to find out what it’s like to be on the receiving end of an angry Liam. “Well, I guess I'm not.”

“So here’s what’s going to happen,” Liam starts, “I’m going to go get cleaned up, and then we’re going to sit down and have a little chat amongst ourselves, but I think I deserve a little more credit than what you’ve been giving me lately. Especially considering the fact that I saved your ass tonight, and you get to live a little bit longer.” Liam turns to head out of the room, but then there’s a hand around his wrist, pulling him back.

Liam pulls away though as quickly as he can, as if he’d been burnt. The look on his face screams murder for Niall even thinking about touching him, but Niall doesn’t look phased. Rather, he looks determined and apologetic. “I didn’t ask you to do anything for me.”

The laugh that bellows out of Liam is the last thing expected for either of them, but that statement is so absurd, Liam doesn’t know what to do with it. “Of fucking course you didn’t, but you know what? I did anyway.” Liam shoves at Niall, pushing him back so that he’s listening. “Whatever kind of mess you’re in, I don’t think you realize how serious these people are, and you wanna mess around like it’s a _goddamn game_.”

“That is the _last_ thing I am doing,” Niall defiantly says. His nostrils flare in anger, and his lips turn down. “Don’t you fucking dare try to call me out on this bullshit, Liam. Whatever happened tonight, what happened to you, is only the tip of the iceberg.” His eyes read with a depth that Liam can’t fathom. It’s like there are scars there and something so much bigger than both Liam and Niall together. “I know how fragile life is. So _fuck you_ for thinking I’m not taking this seriously.” Pale white hands run through blonde hair, tugging at the sides before a frustrated groan is emitted. “I asked you not to get involved. I bloody well _asked you not to_ , and you did anyway. So that is on you, and I’ll gladly take the blame for everything else.” His eyes shift down to Liam’s shoulder. Liam doesn’t notice it at first, thinks Niall’s just turning his gaze away, but he eventually catches on.

Liam hurts somewhere deep down inside of him. It’s nothing like the pain he’d been given tonight, but an ache that settles deep within his soul. If there was any indication about what went on the day Liam had gotten shot, he knows without a shadow of a doubt that Niall has all the details. Liam can’t go so far as to believe he’d been the direct cause because so much information hasn’t been provided yet, but he can no longer deny or try to reason away the idea that Niall is in the dark any longer.

“Liam, I’m asking you this because we’re both heated right now, and I don’t think it’s going to be easy to trust one another, so go clean yourself up, and we’ll discuss this in the morning.”

Liam’s jaw tightens, grinding down hard onto his teeth as he glances over at Niall, who looks utterly defeated. He wants to argue with him - and more or less throttle the Irishman for his decisions - but Liam feels the weight of everything topple over him so suddenly that just the thought of being clean and going to sleep sounds so good. “Okay,” he swallows. “But as soon as we’re both up, I want the truth. I think by now I deserve it.”

Niall nods before Liam leaves. He’s content with this right now, figuring it’s better to wait for all of it to settle between them before they get much deeper into the story. So Liam takes a shower and as soon as he steps out, he examines his body. The bloom of a bruise covers the majority of his skin, and Liam’s careful when he slips a shirt on over his head. Sometimes his movements jerk as the muscles of his stomach twinge with ache, but he breathes out and manages to get to bed easily enough.

+

It’s not difficult to rest. Liam thinks he should be plagued with thoughts of his attack, but now that he’s away from it, it all seems so surreal. The only remaining thing he has aside from his memories are the cuts and bruises left behind, but surely those will fade too and nothing will be left except for the few moments that flash behind his eyelids.

Hours pass while Liam’s asleep and come morning, there’s a dull ache resting behind his eyelids. He takes his time getting up, not bothering to change out of his sweatpants or loose shirt in favor of making it to the kitchen for some food considering he skipped out on it last night. He’s busy munching away and hoping Niall will wake up soon when something catches his eye.

There’s a yellow piece of paper sitting on the kitchen bar. It’s the only thing that sits up there, and he must’ve missed it in his rush to get something into his stomach. So when Liam sets down his bowl of half-eaten cheerios to grab the piece of paper, he’s left with a moment of complete surprise.

And that’s all that’s written there.

Liam regards the paper with prudence, not knowing what it means but having a faint idea. He sets the page down near the sink, backing away slowly before he yells out, “Niall?”

There is no response, and his cereal is left forgotten as Liam quickly exists the kitchen in favor of the bedroom down the hall. When he gets there, the door is ajar, so Liam thinks that all is well for a split second until he pushes it open.

The sight he’s met with fills him with a dread he has never known in his life. Last night had been terrifying, but now it’s completely different because there is nothing left in Niall’s room save for the bed and his desk. All his belongings are gone, so Liam shifts to the closet only to find empty hangers there. He spins around on his heel hoping to find anything left of his roommate, but there isn’t anything left to be found. The room is white and bare and looks like it hasn’t been lived in for months.

Liam’s breath hitches, trying to keep down his panic. He can’t even comprehend what the fuck is going on until he remembers the paper and the word that was probably meant to excuse Niall’s absence.

“Where the hell did you go?” Liam whispers, exiting the room.

The first thing he does is go back to the kitchen. He grabs the piece of paper before heading into his room and picking up his phone. When he finds Niall’s number, he presses _call_ and waits, but the only thing that happens is the automated voice telling Liam that the number is no longer connected. And everything fizzles out for Liam then, the adrenaline has kicked in; his chest heaves, and if he could afford a new phone, he’d gladly throw the one in his hand against the wall.

So he lets those items drop down onto the carpet instead. The phone finds the floor faster than the slip of paper does, and Liam watches as it gracefully slows down, like a feather, and hits the carpet about a foot or two away from him. And in that moment, it’s like fate intervenes because Liam notices that the paper doesn’t land on the side that reads out a pitiful _sorry_ , but instead it’s flipped around where there is something else written on the back.

Liam bends down and picks up the sheet, eyeing it and realizing there’s instructions on the back. There’s another address on there with the words _go here_ written underneath, but Liam knows how that worked out last time for him, and he’d rather not take the chance. There’s more writing below that that matches Niall’s handwriting too; it’s a quick sentence that puts Liam further on edge.

_If not, wait for a meeting._

It’s discreet and simple, and bloody hell, Liam doesn’t know what to think anymore. It’s not like he can tell anyone about this; they may not believe him, and even if they did, it’s not like Liam has a story to give either. All he knows is that things are circling back around, and he’s caught right in middle.

It’s the calm before the storm, and Liam wonders just what he’s in for, what will happen next, and who will come for him if there’s supposedly a meeting involved.

Liam tries not to freak out, even going so far as to skip his classes later in the day because he just needs time to think. The clock ticks as he sits in the living room, and the things that should be on his mind - like looking for a new roommate to help pay for rent - are not even in the same atmosphere of his current thoughts that consist of questions as to why Niall had to be such a little shit. Liam regrets not forcing anything out of him last night and realizes that was the reason he’d suggested leaving everything alone. Liam’s not quite sure how much farther he can be pulled into Niall’s mess, but the least he could’ve done was helped him out a bit.

Now he’s on his own, stuck in a flat he can’t afford with both healing bruises and cuts that suggest Liam’s really in for it if he can’t get ahold of Niall soon. Besides, not only does he owe Liam his life, but he’d really love his money back too.

+

Nervousness, paranoia, and anything else that can be described as worry, pretty much sum up Liam’s life for the next week. He goes to work, and he goes to school, completing his daily routines as if he’s not waiting for something bad to happen. It doesn’t stop him from looking over his shoulder occasional, or wanting to be back at the flat before nightfall either.

Essentially, Liam doesn’t even know what he’s waiting for, doesn’t know what’s going to happen, and it’s like sitting on pins and needles. He’s jumpy, hasn’t had much sleep and is definitely slacking on schoolwork to the point where he thinks it’s best to just drop out. He keeps at it though because it helps distract his mind, not as much as he’d like or prefer, but enough to help him function throughout the day without having an anxiety attack. Liam’s also pretty sure he’s never had one of those in his life until now.

Although the day does finally come when Liam’s confronted with what he’d been unknowingly waiting for all along. Niall had dropped a hint about an address and a meeting that would happen, and so Liam isn't all that surprised when he gets home from class and finds someone sitting in his living room, staring at the tv while simultaneously helping himself to a bag of Liam’s crisps.

He’d been quiet as he approached the living room, already knowing that someone was in his flat after noticing the door had been picked unlocked. Only Niall had a key, but the last thing Liam expects is Niall to ever show his face again. So he stands in the threshold of the living room, waiting patiently for the stranger to notice him. In the meantime, Liam quickly takes in his surroundings. Nothing looks out of place, and he really should be scared out of his mind that there is another male in his house, one he does not know, but he looks harmless enough.

The lad’s wearing decent shoes, black skinny jeans with a plaid shirt twice his size hanging off of his lanky frame. Curls of brown hair make up most of the head, and Liam can only see the side of his face from the angle he’s standing in. He chews slowly, continuing to gaze at the tv as if whatever is on - it’s a rerun of some old football match, Liam notices when he takes a peak - is the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Never seen a game there, mate?” Liam says, deciding that the man in question is completely out of his element.

He’s startled, nearly slips off the couch into a mess on the floor, but manages to catch himself on the coffee table before he’s peering up at Liam with wide, green eyes. “Oh.” His pink mouth is full of food, and Liam grimaces as the lad tries to chew quickly and swallow. “Oh, you’re home. Good.” The back of the stranger’s hand makes it’s way to his mouth, where he rubs at his lips to wipe away anything that might be left behind. “Sorry; I was hungry.”

Liam nods once, not caring about the intrusion his fridge had encountered. Rather he’s quite a bit peeved that if this is the so-called meeting that’s supposed to be coming, he’s not quite sure why they’ve sent a kid to do whatever kind of dirty work necessary. “Are you going to kill me?” Liam asks bluntly. He’s ready for it, or so he thinks. He’s thought about that possibility because at this point, it’d be stupid not to assume the worse.

The thing is though, a smile gathers across the young lad’s face, eyes narrowing as his cheeks grow wider. He’s got a set of pearly white teeth and such an innocent look about him that Liam thinks it’s no wonder he could do someone some serious harm. He’d blind them with what they think is innocence, only to be knocked out by the actual truth.

“Of course not. Who do you think I am?” There’s a shake of the head, and those brown curls follow along. It ruffles up his hair, but the stranger runs his fingers through them to settle it all straight again. “I’m Harry.”

Not only is his voice deep, but it’s a bit slower than Liam’s accustomed to. He also eyes Harry with much needed caution, and as he studies his figure, especially now that he’s standing up and facing Liam completely, Liam feels a bit of familiarity hit him hard. “Oh my god,” he says. “You were the one at the coffee shop.”

Harry looks confused before he shrugs slowly, but Liam knows better than that.

“The fuck you weren’t. That was you!” Liam pauses so he can remember that exact encounter that wasn’t really an encounter at all. It’d been rather creepy given Liam thought he was being followed. And now to have that same person in his flat... “You were following me, weren’t you?”

Harry’s eyes grow big until they settle on the floor. He rocks back and forth on his heels before replying. “I can neither confirm nor deny-”

Liam laughs. “Bullshit. It was you.” He decides to walk into the living room further, figuring he has the upper hand in this, but then Harry almost jumps out of his skin, throwing his hands up and shaking his head rapidly.

“No! Okay, wait. Just wait!” When he notices that Liam isn’t moving closer, and looks more than a little confused as to what the fuck Harry’s doing in the first place, he straightens back up. “We’ve got a lot of things to discuss before you try to lay a hand on me.”

Liam has to try to keep his smile at bay. “I’m not going to beat you up if that’s what you think. I’ve had enough violence happen to me to last a lifetime.”

At that, Liam sees Harry’s eyes dart across his figure, specifically to his shoulder. And maybe Liam’s just a bit slow, but he’s beginning to realize that everyone he comes in contact with seems to know about his gunshot wound. “You’re a friend of Niall’s, right? You’re not like those other guys then.”

“What other guys?”

Liam rubs at his neck, feeling the small cut from the knife at his throat. It’s mainly just a scab now, but sometimes he feels like the blade is still there, ready to dig into him. “The people Niall owes money to.”

It’s like a light bulb goes off in Harry’s head because he goes taut. The muscles in his face draw into seriousness, and his brow slightly creases. “We need to get out of here.” His voice is low, and he starts, moving forward and grabbing onto Liam’s wrist despite the fact that he’d been scared of him and his reaction moments ago.

“Wait, what?” Liam pulls his arm back so hard that Harry almost trips again. He manages to adjust himself with the help of Liam’s hand wrapped around him for support. “What’s going on?”

“That meeting, remember?”

Liam shakes his head. “Yeah, what about it?”

“Well,” Harry begins reluctantly, “it’s not with me.”

“So you expect me to trust you?”

Harry tilts his head side to side, like he’s weighing his options on how to answer. “Pretty much, yes.”

So Liam decides to be stubborn, crossing his hands over his chest in dissent. “And let me just tell you that I gave my trust to the wrong person, and now he’s nowhere to be found. So if you’re wanting me to cooperate, you’re gonna have to give me a good reason as to why I should do so.”

Harry sighs, shoulders falling. “Because believe it or not, we’re the good guys in this situation. And Liam,” Harry presses, “if you want the truth, you’ll come with me.”

So Liam watches as Harry heads out of the flat, knowing that right now is the moment of truth for him in so many different ways. Either he leaves here and figures out what’s going on, or he leaves it be and hopes that nothing comes back to haunt him. It’s a strange feeling that runs over him though, because either way, Liam doesn’t know what he’s in for, and before he knows it, he’s giving the flat one last look before following Harry.

There’s a black car waiting for them on the other side of the street. Harry opens the door and allows Liam to get in before the other lad follows behind him. It’s pretty much a town car, windows tinted black with the smell and overwhelming scent of leather. Liam doesn’t bother to comment or say anything to Harry. Instead he opts to stare out of the window and let the car move before he even thinks about possibly regretting his actions.

“Where are we headed?” he asks quietly, not quite sure if the driver is anyone that Harry trusts.

Harry glances over at Liam before working his lip in between his teeth. “If you see or hear anything, just don’t be alarmed. We’re safe.”

He leaves it at that, and Liam wonders what the fuck that means, but Harry turns away from Liam and silence ensues. For the rest of the ride, it’s like this. The city gets smaller behind the car, the buildings go from nice, sleek and clean to dirty and rundown. Graffiti liters the walls and there are more homeless people on the street. Liam recognizes that they’re in the outskirts of town, the place that no one tends to travel anymore because of all the stories that people have told about it.

Liam’s on the edge of his seat by now because it seems like they take turn after turn and go so far down into this area, that Liam can’t tell where they are anymore. He doesn’t even know where he is himself because he’s never been down this far, never been allowed growing up because it’s obvious to see what kind of condition it’s in. It’s definitely no place for a child.

“We’re almost there,” Harry murmurs.

And he’s right because as soon as they drive for another mile or so, there’s a set of abandoned buildings that the car drives by. One of them has a garage door that is slowly being lifted, and before Liam knows it they’re veiled in near darkness save for the yellow lights that illuminate the car park. It’s abandoned and completely trashed, but there are a number of people standing around. Some of them are smoking, while others are chatting.

Liam notices that the only thing they all have in common is the fact that their attire is almost all black and most are wearing heavily studded jackets, as if this is _Grease_ and they’re a member of the T-Birds.

“Harry, what is this?” Liam asks quickly. Of course he’d been put off and debated on whether tagging along was a good idea, but Liam hadn’t expected some underground secret meeting to take place with men who look like they’d take him out with one fist.

“Patience, Liam.”

Liam clicks his tongue. “Right, because that’s all I ever have these days.”

“We’ll see how that smart mouth fairs in a couple of minutes.” Harry side-eyes Liam with a look he can’t place. It’s probably meaning to tell him to keep quiet or stop complaining, but even if Liam’s wondering about what’s going on, he figures him being curious is a by-product of his true feelings.

The drive within the carpark doesn’t last long. They don’t go up any ramps, but instead drive over to the other side where Liam notices a door that doesn’t seem like it’ll be there in a couple of weeks. It’s hanging off its hinges while still covering up the entrance despite its bent shape.

The car eventually comes to a halt, and although Liam reaches out to open the door, figuring that’s the logical thing to do, he feels Harry’s hand snake around him to hold him still. He only shakes his head before releasing Liam completely, and he’s the first to climb out of his side of the car. Liam watches as he shuts the door, rounds the back of the vehicle before he opens Liam’s door to let him out.

Liam climbs out, stepping to the side so that Harry can shut the door, and although he opens his mouth to comment about Harry being quite chivalrous, he shakes his head and beckons Liam closer. “Just so we’re clear,” he says in a hushed whisper, eyes darting around instead of looking at Liam directly, “you best pay attention and listen to what I tell you. Otherwise I won’t be able to stop anything that might happen to you.”

When Harry pulls away, he straightens out his shirt before reaching forward and wiping off Liam’s. It’s just a gray t-shirt he’s wearing with no stains on it, but Liam wonders if he’s doing it for a reason. He can also tell that Harry’s hands aren’t all that still. They shake, just the slightest bit, and when Liam chooses to peer into Harry’s eyes, he sees something close to what he thinks is fear.

Liam wants to call the other lad out on it, ask him that if this is his place, then why in the world is he terrified? But Liam also understands that his entire situation isn’t all candy and rainbows either. Whatever Niall had been into could’ve led to death, and if Harry’s here, then it’s obvious this isn’t going to be a nice walk in the park either. “Harry,” Liam says softly. He gets the other boy’s attention quickly before pulling Harry’s hands away from his shirt. “It’s okay.”

Harry, with his curls following his every move, ducks his head before breathing out. His hands tighten against Liam’s, but he doesn’t pull away. “After having to look out for you, Liam, you seem like a sensible lad, so use that to your advantage. All I ask of you is to leave the smart mouth behind.”

“Why is that?”

Harry sniffs, slowly pulling his hands away from Liam’s before turning his head towards the door. “Because he has a temper sometimes, and he doesn’t like it when people mess with him either. Promise me you’ll listen, and you’ll think before speaking.”

There’s only been one other time Liam’s been remotely afraid of another person. He could say that him being hurt by Niall’s acquaintances would be the time he’s referring to, but it’s not. Liam knows fear, and his backside had experienced that the day he broke his mother’s mirror. It’d belonged to his grandmother, and it had been a family heirloom, something to hold on to for memories sake, and Liam, being the dumb kid he was, accidentally shattered it. Needless to say, his mother was more than angry, and Liam knew the kind of punishment he was in for.

Now, however, a different kind of fear settles into his stomach. It’s the same kind he had as a child, but this holds a spark of curiosity. And see, Liam shouldn’t be mildly excited about this, but there’s a part that really wonders if what Harry is warning him about is true. Liam likes to believe there is good in people. He’s a sucker for trusting people when he shouldn’t - case in point would be Niall here - and if he’s about to meet an individual who probably holds a different set of standards, he should probably be wanting to back out at this very second.

“Let’s go.”

Liam follows Harry as he pulls open the door. There’s a man leaning against the wall as Liam passes through the threshold. He gives Liam a nod before he makes sure the door is shut behind them. After he walks in, he’s met with a large room, like a common room that expands out. In one corner there are a bunch of couches placed around a flat screen tv. And in another, there are tables lined up against the wall. To Liam’s right, the wall is covered in shelves, each of them having bottles of alcohol stocked. The bar rests just in front of it, and there’s a few men sitting there drinking. Although the bar takes up a majority of the room, in another corner, Liam can see a set of doors. There are three of them, and they’re all closed.

For the most part, it looks okay. He feels out of place, but there’s no reason to bug out just yet. At least, not until Harry turns slightly to address him. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Just stand here and don’t touch anything, don’t talk to anyone. Stay.” His eyebrows go up, head tilting forward as if that’s supposed to scare Liam into submission.

But Liam’s not having it. He feels okay with Harry. Harry’s been decent enough in all of this. Granted, he admitted to following Liam, and he broke into his flat, but still, the guy is giving him some information here in order to prevent himself from getting hurt. So yeah, Liam’s not fine with the idea of being left alone. “Can’t I go with you?”

Harry’s mouth thins, and he looks a bit sad at Liam’s expression. “Just stay here. Nothing will happen, I promise.” He holds up a hand so that Liam won’t trail behind him before he turns around and leaves. Liam watches as he walks to the other side of the room, to one of the three doors before he’s disappearing behind one.

The room is a bit chilly. Liam thinks he hears the sound of the air conditioning going, but he can’t be sure. Most of the noises around him are coming from the men at the bar who pay him no mind. Surely they heard people come into the room, but Liam’s thankful they are not questioning him. So he just stands there as Harry told him to do. Of course that doesn’t keep him from looking around, but it keeps him mildly busy.

He’s not quite sure how much time passes, but each second that ticks by has Liam falling into a tinge of anguish on his part. Harry’s still not back, and Liam feels like a fool. And just as he gets extremely antsy, there’s a noise behind Liam that startles him. He moves his head slightly, trying to better listen to the commotion going on out there. Of fucking course something would go down the moment Liam’s told to stand alone, but soon the door behind him opens, and Liam can feel a nice wave of air flow into the building.

Going against Harry’s wishes, Liam takes a couple of quick steps to his right so that he’s out of the way from people walking in. He thinks he’ll be fine if he just stays quiet. Those who are walking into the room will pay him no mind, but that’s not the case as he can feel eyes bore into him. As they pass, Liam watches as they walk ahead of him and over to the couches. Some round on him, heading towards the bar. There are a good ten or so people that enter before a shout of, “Fucking stupid cunts. I’ve got to handle everything, don’t I?”

Liam tenses up immediately, although he’s not sure why. He’s staring straight ahead now while also feeling a bit weak in the knees. The door is shut then, the air ceasing to circulate around the front of the room before there’s a strong scent of cigarette smoke that has Liam overwhelmed. It’s familiar to him, but he can’t quite place it as quickly as he’d done with Harry.

For a brief second or two, Liam thinks all is well, but then there’s a shift to his left, and he knows that there’s someone else who hasn’t trailed behind the others. Liam can’t really describe the moment of limbo he goes through as he holds his breath. Everything seems okay for the moment, but if he’s honest, he feels like there are a million tiny pinpricks poking into his skin. They heat it up and make him uncomfortable, and because of that, all Liam can do is wait.

“Who the fuck are you?”

The voice that is sleek with velvet spirals down into his eardrums. It’s like honey, really, rich and full of flavor, but slow as molasses and cold to the touch. The movement to Liam’s left happens again, only this time a body comes into view, complete with a face that again, looks very familiar but doesn’t look overly friendly either.

Liam’s first thought is the fact that fucking hell, the lad before him is probably something out of a fairytale. Liam’s never seen anything like him before, and he swears his heart stops for a second before skipping a beat.

Although to be honest, he thinks it’s more out of fear than real appreciation for the man standing in front of him because he looks like a bull about ready to charge. There’s a vein on the side of his neck that pulses, his lips pulled into a strained, thin line. The eyebrows are barely creased because they hold a bold expression all on their own, but Liam has to take into consideration that the eyes burn with so much fire, to the point where Liam can’t ever say he’s seen something like that before. They’re hazel, a deep rich color that swirls into a pattern Liam can’t place; they’re rimmed with kohl pencil, and when those very eyes narrow, Liam swears the heat only grows hotter.

The man tilts his head to the side slowly and very meticulously like he’s calculating his every move. For a brief second, his eyes dart around him before they land back on Liam’s body, who has the nerve to take a step backwards because he’s not only overwhelmed, but that tightness in his chest suddenly climbs its way into his throat, and he’s so dumbfounded, that he’s at a loss for words.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

That voice hits Liam, jolts him out of his staring. He can only imagine what he looks like right now, so out of place and disheveled, but he can’t speak. He tries to get his jaw working; it feels like it’s made out of metal, but it doesn’t happen, and when the male before him notices that he’s not going to say a word, his expression darkens considerably, to the point where he takes another step back.

He regrets it almost instantly because as soon as he’s finished moving, the lad before him launches himself forward, gripping the collar of Liam’s shirt with one hand before _shoving_ him backwards against the wall of the building. Liam’s head rattles, knocking against what he thinks is wood instead of the normal texture walls are made of. It hurts, but he doesn’t cry out and favors cowering away from the beauty before him.

“Are you a _retard_? What the _fuck_ are you doing here?”

Liam really tries not to whimper, but he can’t help it. He’s pretty sure they’ve got everyone’s attention in the room, but that doesn’t matter because the man is up in Liam’s face, shoved against Liam’s entire frame and silently interrogating him with only his gaze. Liam tries his best to swallow so that maybe he can finally find his words, but nothing of the sort happens. He just stares into the lad’s eyes considering they’re eye-level with one another and feels everything he ever knew leak out of his skin and into the wind. He’s not quite sure what’s come over him. If he had to guess, he thinks it’s terror.

Liam also has a strange thought, that maybe he should fight his way out of his. Of course he’s a bit buff, is slightly bigger than some men, but the odds are definitely against him, just like that night on the street, and Liam knows that it’s best to keep on what he’s doing. Harry’s a distant thought in his mind right now too, but it’s there for him to remember when the lad in front of him edges off of Liam a bit.

“I don’t like it when we have unexpected guests.” The corner of his mouth quirks up into a very faint smirk. Although it must be said that nothing about him says he’s trying to be friendly. It’s a half smile that reads danger and precision, and Liam’s on the receiving end of something so brutal.

There’s a fist still curled into Liam’s shirt, and it tightens the longer Liam continues to stay silent. The man before him is about to say something again, surely his anger already at a tipping point, when the heavens decide to shine down on Liam and grant him good fortune when Harry suddenly bursts through the door he’d entered.

“Oh good! You’ve met.”

Liam can’t really describe the look on Harry’s face. It’s one of those mock-happy faces, the kind that tries to fake relief but underneath it all there is hopeless amounts of worry. It doesn’t help Liam feel better, but he thinks that having Harry here is better than none at all. He’ll gladly take what he can get.

Harry ends up sprinting over to both Liam and the lad who has no name yet. He stands beside the two, trying to pry his body in between both men so that he can eventually shove them apart. “Harry,” the man warns.

Liam thinks Harry smiles; he can’t be sure since all he can see are curls as Harry continues to pry the hand off of Liam. “C’mon, Zayn. Let’s leave our guest alone.”

It’s an awkward fight going on before him, but eventually the fingers wrapped around his clothing are released. Those piercing eyes still rest on him with a hate Liam’s not quite sure he deserves, but then Harry’s turning to his side, reaching out both arms to keep both Liam, and who he now knows as Zayn, away from one another.

“You,” Harry points at Liam, “Introduce yourself.”

“Liam,” he chokes out. It’s all he’s able to manage, but that seems to suffice for the curly haired man.

The response that Liam ends up getting is a snort. And to be honest, he hasn’t taken his eyes off of Zayn this entire time. Aside from the weird feeling he’d gotten when he’d first seen the other male, he’s been on edge, watching for anything else that might take him by surprise.

“So he’s not a mute.”

Liam feels ashamed for some reason. He has no reason to be, given he’s literally done nothing wrong here, but god, Zayn has a way about him that makes Liam feel all sorts of wrong.

Harry chides him though, “Of course not. You probably scared the poor thing half to death.”

Zayn’s lips pull up before leaning forward an inch or so, so that he’s eye level with Harry. “I still don’t know who the fuck he is. And if we don’t start figuring that out soon, I’m going to have another reason to go back out to the Range.”

If Liam thought being shoved by Zayn was bad, he was wrong, because Harry’s entire face changes expression. It’s a sudden drop that has Liam realizing that whatever few words Zayn just spoke (and seeing as they’re generic to Liam, they mean nothing, really), they aren’t nice, and they aren’t something to be messing around with.

“Zayn, that’s a bit harsh,” Harry decides to say. He leans his head to the side, raising his brows up a bit as to further scold the other lad, although Liam can see that it doesn’t do much good. So Harry sighs, quickly glancing at Liam before looking at Zayn again. “It’s him.”

The rise and fall of Zayn’s chest happens gradually, almost too softly for Liam to notice. He’s really calm despite their encounter moments ago, but then his face transforms into realization. “ _Him_.”

Harry licks his lips and nods. “Yeah.” He sounds a bit melancholy, but he steps aside, and Liam almost has the urge to reach out for him because it’s clear that he’s not playing barrier anymore, and is in fact letting Zayn come closer to him.

Zayn reaches out again, but Liam panics and tries to deflect any kind of touch because he doesn’t want to be hurt again like last time. His head isn’t in as much pain, but he’s sure he might feel it in a few hours. “No,” he says, trying his best to shove back against the wall further.

“I need to check-” And Zayn tries to get closer again until Liam takes the opportunity to shove Zayn backwards.

He doesn’t land on his ass, but he is quick on his feet, catching himself just before he falls. Liam notices as Harry now has a hand wrapped around Zayn’s elbow, and several of the men in the room look like they’re about to stand up and beat him for even thinking about doing what he’d just done. “I said _no_.” And Liam means it. His jaw clenches, and he pushes away from the wall, hands balled into a fist. “Look, I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I don’t appreciate being manhandled by a goddamn lunatic.”

By this time, Zayn’s back to his expression of neutrality with the fire burning brightly within those eyes. Harry, on the other hand, stands just to Zayn’s left and is dramatically making faces at Liam, even going so far as to wave his hand in front of his neck as if to tell him to cut it out. The thing is, Liam’s too far gone right now to listen. “I followed you here, probably a mistake on my part, to find out some answers that I need so I can get my life back in order. These past few months have been nothing but hell for me, and you,” Liam points at Zayn, “want to come in here like you’re some big shot and screw with me.”

He’s ranting; all the pent up anger and emotions he hadn’t gotten to express about the shooting and about Niall bubble over and exit his mouth in such distaste that Liam’s just appalled at himself that he even has the audacity. It’s not too far off the mark to admit that those around him too think he’s gone overboard.

“I’m sorry,” Liam says quickly once he’s had a brief moment of time to think. He’s not sure where this will end up leading now; it’s apparent that Zayn has a temper, and then it dawns on Liam just who the fuck this is. “He’s the one I’m meeting, aren’t I?” Harry’s reminder decides to flash across his mind, and Liam now begins to wonder how much trouble he’s going to be in.

Harry nods, frown set in place. He closes his eyes, like he’s waiting for the inevitable, which of course, does happen. “Let me see it, and then we can get started.”

Liam wants to comment on his choice of words but finds that now isn’t appropriate so he does as he’s told by stretching the material of his shirt to reveal the gunshot wound. It’s healed up by now, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t something left behind. It’s still red around the area, but it’s not tender. “Happy?”

Zayn’s eyes dart up to Liam’s before he nods once in approval. Liam lets go of his shirt before finally addressing the issue again. “So, what is this about?”

“Tell me what you know.”

Liam rolls his eyes, completely not in the mood, but figures if this is going to get him closer to what he wants, then fine. “Obviously I know a lot more than I should but not enough to actually put my mind to rest,” he spits. “I was shot, ended up waking up to some strange guy in my room who was talking complete nonsense-” Liam’s been staring at Zayn this entire time, so when he trails off, it’s because he notices all movement coming from the other lad, including the way his features soften just a bit, and Liam’s met with some truth. “It was you.”

Zayn doesn’t acknowledge Liam, rather he waves a hand, wanting Liam to continue. Although Liam doesn’t need any kind of confirmation; he remembers now, not quite sure how that little piece could’ve slipped his mind. The movements, and his words match up completely. Liam must’ve been out of it if he couldn’t place the stranger in his room to the man before him now.

“So then I felt like I was being followed; Niall was acting weird and taking phone calls in the middle of the night. And one evening I came home to him drunk. He’s Irish, but even they don’t get sloshed that early. Regardless, he said he was going to die,” Liam gestures with his hands, not quite sure if they help emphasize his point, but it helps some of the tension evaporate. “So I took it upon myself to help him out, did something stupid, and when I asked him about explaining, he left. He’s gone, and I don’t know whether I’m going to see him again.” He shrugs his shoulders, wants to throw his hands up in the air and give up, but he’s already made himself look ridiculous so it’s probably best to keep a level head from here on out.

“He’s not coming back.” It’s Zayn who speaks, but Liam’s startled because it’s nothing like it had been before. Not only does it put Liam on edge, but it makes him wonder if Zayn’s up to something.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

There’s a huff before an _excuse me_ is administered. Zayn backs way, heading towards the bar where the men sitting there move from their position as if they’re scared of him. Someone appears behind the bar quickly enough, pouring alcohol into a glass before Zayn’s bringing it to his lips to swallow it down with one gulp. “Go back to the Range and fix the dirt. You bloody lot need to learn how to dig a proper hole.”

Half of the men in the room stand up and leave immediately, but Liam pays them no mind as Zayn downs another shot before asking for more. He also gestures for another glass, and it’s filled before tan hands pick up both glasses, bringing one over to Liam and keeping one for himself. Liam doesn’t take it right off the bat until Zayn nudges it forward.

“You’re probably going to need it,” Zayn says. He motions for Liam to take it again until he relents and does so, although he keeps the drink there, never bringing it to his mouth like Zayn does.

“That bad?”

Zayn laughs suddenly; it’s rich, and Liam thinks he looks a lot better that way rather than the scowl he’s adorned so far. “You’ve no idea, Liam.”

Around this point, Harry wanders off to another part of the room for the time being. Liam misses his presence, still not trusting of anyone else save for the lad, but then Zayn’s standing there licking his lips and gaining all of Liam’s attention. “You ever heard of the Blue Bloods?”

Liam shakes his head.

“Think of them as a fraternity. They’re rich, spoiled little bastards who think they’re hot shots with big egos and a penchant for petty pranks. Except,” Zayn holds up his hand with the glass in it, “they’re in the big leagues. Well,” he snorts, “they try to be anyway.” He takes a sip of his drink, looking a lot more relaxed than previously. “They’re a ragtag team of gangsters who play by their rules. They get themselves out of trouble with their parent's money and try to act as if they’ve made a name for themselves when, in fact, they’re just a bunch of...” Zayn sucks in a breath, looking for the right word until Harry chimes in.

“Posers.”

Zayn looks behind him and with a curious glance before rolling his eyes and continuing. “Posers, sure. We’ll go with that.”

“That doesn’t sound so awful,” Liam says. It’s more of a guess, not something he actually believes.

Zayn doesn’t buy it either though. “Let’s put it this way, in simpler terms for you, Liam. They’re a gang, or at least they try to be. Although what ends up happening is that they smoke, snort and prick themselves more often than not with their own product than actually making money from it. They’re lousy with business and are trying to be something they’re not.”

“Okay wait, wait. Hold on a second-” Liam pauses, looks around before setting his glass down on a table that’s near him. He ignores it completely, wiping his hands on the side of his jeans before taking into account what Zayn just said. “Gang?” His voice might or might not have gone a tad bit higher as he spoke, but instead of being embarrassed by the squeak, Liam’s still wrapping his mind around the fact that Zayn said -

“What?” Zayn’s mouth widens to the point where his teeth show and eyes crinkle at the sides. Liam thinks he looks like a goddamn shark with the sparkle in his eye. He’s taking great pleasure out of Liam being confused. “Did you think you were in a clubhouse? This isn’t some shoddy hole-in-the-wall building. It looks like that,” Zayn tilts forward like he’s whispering, “yes, but it’s so much more. In fact, just being here, you’re probably breaking about six different laws.”

“I didn’t think it was that-” Liam can’t keep his voice from shaking. It’s a lot to take in, and honestly, he shouldn’t be surprised that this is the case given he was shot. Surprises shouldn’t even be remotely surprises whatsoever by now, but god, Liam hadn’t planned this for his life. This isn’t the kind of thing people think about really unless it’s all they’ve known or they’ve gotten into it with the wrong people.

Zayn continues to smile though. It’s eerie and doesn’t help Liam’s feeling one bit. “Serious? But of course, Liam.”

That smile doesn’t drop off of Zayn’s face, so Liam decides to press on knowing that there’s a point to Zayn’s entire story. “And what does Niall have to do with all of this?”

“Ah, the moment of truth.” The glass in Zayn’s hand is swirled around, playing with it just to give him something else to do. “Niall was a Blue Blood, born and bred into a high society but needed a way out because he couldn’t handle the life of the rich and famous. Granted, part of it had to do with the fact that everything on the ladder was mere gossip, lord knows his mother wasn’t a very... stable woman. Neither was his father,” Zayn shakes his head, closing his eyes as if he’s remembering something sentimental. “My heart should go out for them, but Niall fucked that up quickly.”

“Because he owes people money, right?”

“You’re catching on. However, there’s a bit more to it.” Zayn chugs the rest of his drink before he goes to set the glass on the bar, carefully returning to his position he’d been in before. Liam remains where he is too because everything is slowly falling into place. “See, being in the Blue Bloods means wealth, and as I said his family wasn’t very abiding. Apparently something went down at the company - I don’t keep track of petty gossip - and they lost their fortune. And to cut this story short, Niall stole from his buddies because he knew he wouldn’t be able to survive without the money regardless of the fact that he hated it to begin with.”

So, there’s one question marked off of Liam’s list. The money Niall owed belonged to a gang he associated himself with. On top of that, he went behind their back and took something that didn’t belong to him, and now the fact Niall had been stressed since the day Liam first met him, fits perfectly with the story. And sure, Liam thinks that some of this could be made up, but then what would Zayn or Harry have to gain from this? He’s standing in a gang hideout already though, with nothing to offer but his own blood. He can hardly call out Zayn for lying now.

“Of course!” Zayn says, raising his voice and startling Liam. “He’s a rich kid, and he wouldn’t be able to make it in a typical family household. So he ran with the money. Left his parents to fend for themselves, although as it turns out they had some money stored away in some offshore bank account, but regardless the Blue Bloods weren’t happy, wanted Niall to give the money back. So he found himself in a very curious predicament.”

Liam scratches the side of his neck. He doesn’t think he’s quite the smart lad, but some things aren’t adding up here. “Okay, but if he owed them money, couldn’t he just give back what he stole? And where do you fit into all of this?”

“That’s the fun thing about being in a gang, Liam. You’re your own personal bank,” Zayn explains. “Interest is a thing and only continues to get higher the moment someone doesn’t pay up. Which, inevitably, is what happened to your dear friend. His payments got too much so...” He shrugs, but Liam frowns; he wants to smack the smirk off Zayn’s face because the deeper they get into this story, the more he finds that Zayn has no respect for it, no feelings, no _something_.

It wouldn’t be bad for Liam to already label and judge him right then and there, but for whatever reason he’s holding out. However, he’s beginning to rethink his look on life a bit, thankful for his situation in how he grew up. “It was either repay it all or end up in a body bag. The thing is, I didn’t know about this scandal until Niall was too far gone. We’d met through a mutual friend one night, and the little weasel gained my trust. When I finally got the truth, I made a deal with him.”

For the first time, Liam looks away from Zayn, but that doesn’t stop the other male from continuing. “If he worked for me, he could earn enough to pay back the Blue Bloods by month. Not only did that guarantee protection, but he wouldn’t have to worry about his life ending at a young age. Now, you’re probably wondering what went wrong,” Zayn tsks, pulling on his earlobe and shifting his weight onto his other leg. “Well, simply put, he got behind; they sent a warning,” Zayn nods his head forward but also casually waves a hand pointing faintly at Liam, “so Niall got scared and bailed.”

Liam’s hand makes its way to his shoulder. It rests just above his wound, brows scrunching up and trying to comprehend the story. It sounds absurd, so untruthful, but Liam had been on the receiving end of an issue that Niall couldn’t tie up, and this isn’t something he can readily throw away either because the proof is not only marred into his skin, but it also stands before him. Liam’s standing in the nest of a gang. He has no clue about this world, yet he’s right smack dab in the middle and everything feels off kilter.

So because of that, his chest tightens and the prickling of tears edge themselves into the corner of his eyes. They don’t fall; Liam won’t allow them to, but instead a sharp, piercing laugh escapes his belly, sending him into near hysterics because yeah, yeah, of course this is his life. “And why I’m still standing here, I don’t know,” Liam snarls once he’s managed to get himself under control. There’s an animalistic approach he’d like to take; a good fist in the wall sounds like a good idea, but then everything flows out of Liam at once when he gets ahold of himself and takes a deep breath. He swears he can be level headed about this. “So what, in the grand scheme of things, does all this mean exactly?”

Zayn purses those pink lips of his. “Several things, really. Ultimately it’s your choice, not mine.” The glint in his eyes is back now, but it’s a challenge rather than a twisted smirk. He’s eye level with Liam, staring directly at him and trying to rile him up for god knows what reason.

“You know what?” Liam starts. “Nevermind. This, to be quite honest, doesn’t concern me anymore, and the one thing I’ll be glad for is to get away from the likes of you.” And he turns around, headed towards the door he once entered so he can somehow find his way out of here. It’s an abrupt exit on his part, yes, but there is so much to think about, so much to go over, and Zayn, well, he’s dealt with Zayn enough as it is. The part he plays, Liam’s positive he wants nothing to do with, and if Niall’s debt is being taken care of, then Liam wants out.

There’s a clearing of the throat before the snapping of teeth on teeth rings out, as if someone has opened their mouth, only to close it once again. Liam pauses his movements when he hears shuffling too.

“Liam, we’re not done yet.” It’s Harry who calls out first, but then a quick _shut the fuck up_ is followed, and Liam doesn’t understand it, doesn’t get the rudeness or the way things have been handled up at this point. So he turns around to address the problem, to talk to Harry specifically because at least the man has won Liam over in the very, very brief time they’ve known one another. The curly hair and the green eyes send a warmth down Liam’s spine, and he can only imagine what Harry himself is into.

“For one moment-” Liam turns only to cut himself off, angry expression completely wiping clean when he notices that not only is Harry now standing directly beside Zayn and trying to get him to cool down, but Zayn’s now got a cigarette in his hand. It’s lit and as he brings it to his mouth; he licks his lips, breathing in the smoke before letting it go. The smell of ash hits Liam again, but that’s not what startles him the most. Despite one hand being occupied with the fag, his other one is pointed up towards Liam, resting in the shape of a gun. His arm is locked straight, eyes narrowed still with that kohl pencil adorning the multitude of colors that flash within those orbs.

The fire burns brightly too.

“Listen here, _boy_ ,” Zayn snarls, the words curling from the tip of his tongue. It’s nothing like an insult, possibly couldn’t do any more damage than labeling someone as a distinct adjective, but it sits heavy in the air and makes Liam feel small. His shoulders slump, face paling so that his skin holds no trace of a blush. “You go out there,” his eyes flicker behind Liam quickly before coming back, “I won’t be able to protect you, and if you end up heading back to your flat like I know you have in mind - because you think all of this is over and will go back to normal - there is no bloody fucking way I’m going to be able to protect you.”

Liam can do nothing but listen and wonder why the fuck Zayn’s still pointing at him like he is. Not only does it agitate him, but it unnerves him too to see Zayn look so still. He’s absolutely vivid in person, breathtaking even, and Liam sure as hell knows that whatever kind of reputation he has as an individual, it must precede him.

“The first thing they’ll do is put a bullet through your head.” Zayn’s entire hand snaps back as if he just released a round. It has Liam lifting his head up, a quick reaction to the movement; his breathing is raggedly hard because he knows, somewhere deep down inside of him he _knows_ that’s the truth. If they’d already shot him once before - his shoulder - there’s no way they wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.

The thing is though, Liam wants to be lied to at this point. He _needs_ what Zayn is telling him right now to not be true because if he can’t go back to his flat, if he can’t go back to his previous life as the lad before him is suggesting, then what is he supposed to do? This isn’t his problem. All of this is Niall’s, and there is no reason he should still be here right now. “So what are you saying?”

Zayn’s hand, the one that had been pointing at Liam is by his side, while the other is still wrapped tightly around his smoke. His thumb rubs at his lip, smoke curling around his face while Zayn’s eyes narrow considerably as he weighs the answer to Liam’s question.

“Whether or not you’re truly catching onto how serious this is, we’ve yet to find out,” Zayn retorts, “but the reason you’re here now is because you _can’t_ go home. You now have a debt to repay, Liam.”

The last sentence catches Liam off guard. This entire time he’s been spoon fed an agonizing truth, something that’s startled him for sure but, “What do you mean I have a debt?” Liam asks, face scrunching up at the absurd thought. “I’ve done nothing!”

But Zayn, well, it softens for the second time, long enough for Liam to see before it hardens again. “That’s now how they see it,” he licks his teeth, tasting the remaining alcohol left behind, “you were involved the day they decided to use you as a warning. They want their money, and since Niall’s nowhere to be found, they’re going to be looking for the next best thing,” those thick eyebrows raise, and Zayn’s hand slices through the air as if he’s presenting something in front of him, “you.”

“But-”

“Enough, Liam.” Zayn cuts him off quickly, voice cold and unstrained. “You can bitch about the circumstance later, but right now you have a decision to make.”

“And what’s that? It doesn’t look like I have much of a choice. I’ll be dead by the end of the week then, yeah?”

“No,” Zayn rectifies. “No, we always have a choice. Choosing the right one, however, is a completely different story.”

Liam snorts, “Right, that’s gold coming from someone who’s probably got a rap sheet several pages long.”

The shark smile, as Liam’s decided to dub it as, returns to Zayn’s face. He shrugs before speaking, “Wouldn’t you like to know? And either way, you learn quickly not to get caught. Otherwise there’s no point in playing this game.”

Liam’s hands curl into fists by his side but nothing will come out of it. Instead the tips of his fingernails dig into his skin to remind him that pain isn’t only something he suffers from. “Why the fuck would you, of all people, help me out then?” It’s a fair question given that Niall betrayed him, left his ass for dead, and now all Liam has going for him is a bloody gang who probably - and this is his mind going haywire at the moment - has a body count so sky high that Liam wouldn’t be able to fathom the number. “If this is Niall’s debt, something he did himself, you don’t owe me anything, right?” Liam doesn’t wait for an answer, quickly speaking after the question. “Then I figure someone like you, someone like Harry, would rather let me die.”

Zayn sniffs, tilting his head to the side. Those hazel eyes look open and more honest than Liam’s seen this whole time. They’re so fixed in a way that Liam finds strange. They hold so much more than color but a depth full of shadows and secrets, piles of wisdom he’s accumulated. Zayn also looks like he’d seen bad things at a very early age, things that have Liam’s heart constricting in his chest. “Because I made a deal, and what kind of man would I be if I went back on my promises?” His words, both like fire and ice, burn so hot that Liam feels the singe against his skin. They’ve a way about themselves, a softness that’s twisted within sincerity to relieve Liam of his slight worry.  He can’t say he’s glad for this opportunity; he’s even hesitant on accepting the offered metaphorical outstretched hand, but at this point, Liam thinks he might be willing to try anything.

“So you’re asking me to stay here? That you’ll protect me just as you did Niall?” Liam’s hand are shaking, but he keeps them close to his being, not wanting anyone else in the room to pick up on his fright.

“Niall was familiar with gang life,” Zayn begins. “We had him run errands for us, sell a bit on the side.” Pink lips purse as Zayn continues to eye Liam. “I’d have you do all of that had you been running before, but unfortunately for the both of us, that’s not the case.”  He steps forward then, eyes still trained on Liam as he makes his way closer. “And I’m not stupid enough to send a rookie out either because you’d end up dead.” He’s only a couple of steps away from Liam and the door now, about an arm’s length away, but Liam just lets him get closer because he has nowhere else to go. “You’ll stay here and pay off what’s left of the debt, or you can choose to leave right now with the hopes that the Blue Bloods don’t find you.”

Liam feels the breath leave his lungs quickly before rapidly swallowing down more air. “I could run away like Niall,” he suggests.

Zayn lifts up an eyebrow. “Chances are they have someone watching your flat already; you wouldn’t be able to gather your things. There’d been one before Harry came to pick you up-”

“What?” Liam deadpans.

“That was taken care of, but I can’t say there’s no one else playing watchdog.”

Liam doesn’t even want to know what Zayn means by that. “What would I end up doing?”

It takes one moment for Zayn to run his eyes over Liam’s body before he’s tilting in and saying, “I could have you strip. Quite fit, but after this lovely conversation we’ve had,” Zayn directs his hand to the both of them, “I’m positive that that’s not going to be suitable for you.”

Liam wants to scoff, but what he ends up doing instead is blushing fiercely. It only captures Zayn’s interest all the more. That angular face turns his head to the side, nodding his head quickly as if he’d already given thought about what the new addition to the group might have to do in order to help out around the place. “You’ll play barmaid to the Forty Thieves.”

The cigarette Zayn had lit is near it’s filter, so he drops it on the ground, lifting a foot and rubbing it out. “Harry will fill you in on the rest, but for now dear, Liam,” Zayn gives a slight bow, “welcome to your new home. I hope you enjoy your stay.” When he lifts his head up, that grin is set in place, eyes glazed over with business finished. His entire body turns, back facing Liam before he stalks off completely and out of sight, behind one of the doors, different than the one Harry had entered earlier.

Liam’s left to himself with his thoughts. Of course there are others in the room, including Harry, but the suffocating weight of Zayn’s presence is gone, and for the first time Liam feels in control. He feels relief.

“Here’s hoping you make some kick ass drinks,” Harry says, breaking apart Liam’s train of thought.

“The only thing I’m good at is opening a beer bottle.” Liam looks over at Harry who’s making his way over to him.

“Then I guess we’re spending the rest of the day teaching you what the boys like.” He smiles brightly, fingers sliding around Liam’s wrist and tugging on it. Liam follows without much effort, guided by Harry and his enthusiasm that probably shouldn’t be there.

“I have to ask,” Liam speaks as soon as they’ve rounded the bar. Harry’s let go of him by now, grabbing several glasses out from under the cupboard before turning around and eyeing all of the bottles on the wall. “Who are you in all of this then? It’s apparent Zayn trusts you as you do him.”

Harry continues eyeing the bottles until he makes a few selections, setting them aside before going back for more. “Well, there’s load of different names for it, really. Sidekick is one of them, right hand man might be more accurate.”

“And Zayn?”

Harry pauses for a brief second before carefully placing a bottle down onto the counter.

“I mean, he’s like you right? He didn’t say and...” He trails off although he probably knows the answer to his question already. Truth is, Liam doesn’t want to assume, especially not with his predicament, not with everything laid out on the table in front of him. He knows there’s a reason it wasn’t directly mentioned, probably so he wouldn't be overwhelmed further, but he’s still caught up with a slow mind.

“Listen,” Harry directs, “I’m sure you’re a smart lad, after all you took the offer to stay here-”

“Not willingly,” he points out.

Harry gives him a look before continuing. “Yes, willingly. Other actions were dictated for you, but you still made the conscious effort to stay here. The thing is, Zayn doesn’t do dumb, doesn’t like it when people don’t use common sense, so if he expects you to understand something, you better bloody well figure it out because he’s not going to spell it out for you.”

Liam feels scolded, and his face must show it because Harry’s tone softens. “Liam, I know this isn’t conventional. It’s not what anyone would go after, but once this is cleared up, you’ll be free to go.”

And the thought of home sounds amazing to Liam. It brings him back to childhood memories and just being in the flat and complaining about work or school. Bloody hell, he never thought he’d see the day where he’d readily admit to wanting to be at school of all places.

“I get it.”

“Do you?” Harry makes a grab for the first bottle - something Liam’s never seen before and wouldn’t be able to name right off the bat.

“I think so.”

“You won’t have to deal with him if that’s what you’re worried about. Typically he’s busy with work and other... _things_.” It’s hesitancy in Harry’s green eyes. Liam can spot it a mile away because unlike Zayn, Harry is easy to read. What he also recognizes is the fact that Harry’s going to stay mum on whatever _things_ he’s talking about. Liam has the heart to ask, but Harry’s posture goes slack once he pours the alcohol and brings the glass to his lips. “Sorry,” he says, voice hoarse from the liquid. “Need it after today.”

Liam doesn’t question anything else after that unless it pertains to making a particular beverage. He can’t say he picks up on it quickly, but Harry downs the disaster drinks anyway because he - as soon as he gets tipsy - informs Liam that he might as well get sloshed considering that tonight they’re supposed to have some sort of party here, a real big event that will bring in cash and help Liam earn his first paycheck.

All he can do is sigh and try to remember what Harry tells him while keeping the past two hours in his head on replay.

+

When Harry mentioned a party earlier, Liam did not expect something overtly illegal. Now, maybe he should’ve been prepared, but all of this is still very new to him. Currently, he’s behind the bar. Harry’s with him too as they serve drinks to people because Liam had told him he wasn’t quite sure he could deal with this on his own.

Harry, by now, is wasted though, and half the time he gets the orders wrong. Mostly it’s Liam taking care of Harry and trying to quickly get these men and women their drinks before their half smiles turn into scowls, and really, he feels so scatterbrained. He doesn’t have time to think or enjoy himself. It’s like one large frat party going on, and Liam’s more than uncomfortable. He tries to keep his eyes away from the activity in the room, but it’s difficult not to glance up and find someone smoking or snorting a line off of the tables over in the corner. Women in short dresses and bold makeup sip their drinks while hanging off the laps of each gang member; there’s music too, although the laughter and chatter mostly drowns it out.

But what’s most important to Liam is the fact that Zayn showed up late, found himself a place on the arm of the couch and immediately had people flock around him. He’s still there, and Liam can’t help but eye him, but that’s not what has him remotely put off. It’s the fact that even though Zayn’s supposed to be enjoying himself, he’s been staring at Liam all night with both a drink and a cigarette in his hand, possibly a bit of weed too.

Liam shivers as he opens a bottle of beer and passes it over to a man who’s got more jewelry on than necessary. He smiles quickly, nods too before slowly scooting down the bar to help someone else. “And you?”

“The usual.”

Liam snaps his head up and is met with those hazel eyes. They’re direct and full of intent. “Sure.” Typically, and according to Harry, it’s straight up whisky, whatever kind it may be. Liam comes to the conclusion that Zayn’s able to hold his liquor quite well, especially if it’s his common request.

He tries to back away from the counter, wants to find something good for Zayn, but before he can, fingers trail over his wrist and tug him forward. “Enjoying yourself?”

There’s a combination of smells that emit from Zayn. Liam can’t quite pinpoint them all, but they’re not necessarily bad. Whether Zayn’s done the actions acquainted with the smells, Liam doesn’t know, but chalks it up to being around people who are quite wild. After all, once he flicks his eyes down to his wrist and back up again, he swears he sees a couple going at it out of the corner of his eye. “The truth? No. I think it’s terrible and tacky.”

Zayn looks intrigued. “Really?” He sits back on his stool, fingers still cool to the touch on Liam’s skin, and waves a hand behind him, presenting the entire place to Liam. “It’s for you!”

Liam frowns.

“You don’t like your welcome party?”

He slurs the last word, and Liam immediately knows he’s drunk or high, or hell, he doesn’t know for sure. “I’d rather be in bed actually,” he sneers because he can’t think of a better answer, and the word _no_ wouldn’t suffice.

But apparently it’s the wrong answer because Zayn lets Liam go immediately, gets down from his seat and rounds the bar. Harry gets in the way, tries to say _hi_ to Zayn, but he’s ignored because Zayn heads directly for Liam. “Okay then.” And those fingers curl into the front of Liam’s shirt enough to have him flinch in fear because he thinks that Zayn may throw him down.

That’s not what happens though; instead Zayn grips the fabric of his clothing, ignoring the way that some of the men are protesting when they lose one of their bartenders. Liam tries to stand his ground, but his shirt is pulled, and he has no other clothes save for the ones on his body, so he follows Zayn to one of the doors leading to the back. “Where are we going?”

“Well, if someone’s not going to be grateful enough,” Zayn speaks as they walk through the threshold of the door, “then we might as well put you to bed so us adults to have some fun.”

They’re in a long hallway. It’s not really narrow, but as they continue on down, it’s lined with doors. Some of them have numbers on them, others don’t. Eventually, they get to the end where the hallway takes a sharp right and they’re met with a gray door. “Your bedroom,” Zayn says, twisted the knob and pushing it open.

The room is quite simple, a bed frame with a mattress on it, a wardrobe sitting in one of the corners and a nightstand just to the left side of the bed. There is also a bookshelf filled with books that Liam gets curious about, but there’s no time to think about it as he’s pulled into the room and shoved onto the bed. “You’re going to be difficult, aren’t you?” Zayn asks. He leaves Liam there, not bothering to join him, and Liam doesn’t know whether to be thankful for that or not.

“I’m not difficult,” Liam counters, “I’m just rather unamused.”

“Bloody fuck, what have I gotten myself into?” It’s an offhand comment, something someone says under their breath in frustration, but that’s not the case because well, again, Zayn’s not exactly sober, and he makes a point of being dramatic by pinching the bridge of his nose.

But Liam’s not having any of it, he snorts, moves so that he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees before he finally decides to be straight up honest as this man who tries to exude confidence is at his weakest. “Right, because this entire thing revolves around you. I forgot,” Liam snips. “You’re not the one in danger here, yeah?”

Zayn pulls his hand away from his face, and it’s the first time Liam notices that his eyes are bloodshot. He crooks the side of his mouth, licks his lips and blinks at Liam. “The fuck you know? Need I remind you where you are.” He steps closer to Liam so he has to look up in order to see Zayn’s face. A hand snakes its way to the side of Liam’s neck, curling around it and tightening. “Your life is in my hands right now, and I figured you’d wanna let go.”

Liam wraps his hand around Zayn’s arm, urging him to let go of him although he doesn’t. He keeps his hand on Liam, smirk settling onto his face. “You’re a right wanker, and I hope this ends soon.”

Zayn tries but fails to hold back a laugh, and as he does so, Liam knows he has the perfect opportunity to push Zayn away from him. He doesn’t take it.

“I’ve a feeling you’re going to be calling me quite a few little pet names when you’re here.”

“Fuck you,” Liam snarls.

Zayn’s fingers tighten around his skin, short nails burying themselves into his skin. He winces and has to tilt his head to the side a bit to release some of the pressure.

“You should.”

Liam’s face goes slack, quickly glancing up at Zayn who’s entire face is neutral. He's not quite sure what Zayn is playing at, but he feels like there's more to it. They don't know one another and even if such a casual thing exists, Liam feels like this is part of not being appreciative of what Zayn thinks is his own form of hospitality. "Is that what this is about then? Me doing you _favors_ too? I agreed to serve drinks, not pleasure you.”

Zayn clears his throat before releasing Liam, although as soon as he does, there’s a hand on his chest, just over his heart and a quick shove before Liam’s laying flat on the bed, Zayn quickly crawling on top of him, smiling down with a grin. “I don’t blame you for not knowing this, but Harry said you were smart. Liam,” he pouts, finger coming to rest just on Liam’s cheek and stroking it. The alcohol on his breath is heavy, and Liam knows he needs to get out of this. “This is a gang, yeah?” His voice turns sardonic and small. “There are no contracts; there are no rules. So if you decide you want to quicken this process, I’m sure we can work something out.”

“Enough,” Liam growls. His hands push at Zayn until he’s manhandling him so that Liam is now on top. As soon as he realizes his position, he climbs off the bed entirely, breathing heavily and running a hand through his hair. “Just, _enough_.”

“Please, don’t tell me you don’t have a penchant for sucking cock,” Zayn says impassively. He lifts himself up so that he’s laying back on his elbows, hair mussed and covering his forehead. It gives the appearance of a softer, younger look, someone who doesn’t look so worn from the wear and tear of everyday life.

“You’re drunk, and I’d rather put this conversation behind us.” Liam has a fear running through him, that if Zayn’s like this, it means any of his men could be too. It’s not that he feels entirely unsafe; he knows he can take Zayn if need be, but it’s the idea that Zayn holds power, and if he’s able to remember this in the morning, all might not be well for Liam.

“Maybe; doesn’t change the fact that I’m right, aren’t I? I didn’t get here because I had people _tell_ me things when I could certainly come to the conclusion myself.” He blinks lazily, as if he’s about to nod off to sleep, and Liam figures that if he can keep going with the small talk, Zayn will pass out quickly and this will end. “It’s only an offer, and a pretty boy like yourself wouldn’t last long around here anyway.”

Liam doesn’t know if that’s a compliment, but he backs himself against the wall - something he’s becoming quite familiar with - to lean against it and tone down the topic of choice. “I’ll work off what Niall owes by doing manual labor that doesn’t involve appeasing you or any of your men and their sexual appetites.”

“You’ll be here longer. It’s not like we keep that kind of cash around. We have to earn it just the same.”

“By illegal activities, I’m assuming?”

Zayn sits up fully, legs dangling over the edge of the bed as his hands curl around the sides of the mattress. “Don’t look at me like you’re better, Liam.” Thick black eyelashes dance across tan skin as Zayn blinks. “Making money is everyone’s goal in life, isn’t it? Our lives are ruled by it, and if that’s the case, why not make a nice profit so I can live comfortably?”

“Plenty of legitimate jobs too.”

But Zayn scoffs. “Who’s to say we’re not legitimate? We play by our own rules, as companies do. Just because some of our products may be detrimental to someone’s health doesn’t actually mean shit. Tell me, do you know how easy it is to walk into the local shop and buy over the counter pills, down them all and end your life?”

Liam bites his tongue quickly because the words are sharp and quick, but that’s not what has him freeze in place. Zayn’s chest rises and falls carefully, eyes big and jaw tense as if he’s just explained too much. When his eyes eventually meet Liam’s, he stares at Liam with difficulty and dominance, as if he’s provoking Liam to ask what he’s talking about. “Point being,” he says roughly, “is that my job is to provide, and what people do afterwards is their own goddamn business. You don’t know half the shit that really goes on here, so I suggest you get your head out of the clouds and start figuring out that _this_ is reality, and you’re fucking in it.”

Zayn’s at the door before Liam knows it after having to look down at his feet. He so desperately wants to ask what Zayn’s talking about, but he knows that this topic has probably sobered him up and heated his blood. “There’s a change of clothes in the dresser and the bathroom is the first door on the left. Go to bed or join the party, I don’t care.”

He’s gone within a matter of seconds, pulling open the door and disappearing, leaving Liam behind in more mystery and chaos than just a few hours ago. Liam eyes the bed, figures that maybe it’s best to get a good night’s sleep before trying to think further, mind light and unsorted with events.

Liam makes sure to shut the door, feeling the vibrations of the music through the walls. It’s low, but not loud enough to prevent him from falling asleep. As soon as the door is locked - Liam debates on doing this, but he feels safer doing so - he checks the drawers for clothes, changes out of his own before settling into the unfamiliar bed.

It’s weird, but feels comfortable enough, and it takes Liam much longer to actually settle down his racing heart and running mind, but eventually he drifts off into a light sleep with the hopes that maybe tomorrow he’ll wake up in his flat and his old life will be there waiting for him with open arms.

+

There is no clock in the room and the dresser guards the only window so Liam can’t really tell what time of day it is. He thinks it’d been done on purpose, to lure him out of the bedroom, but then again that sounds like too much work for a gang to do if the conversation with Zayn and their business adventures were anything to go by.

He sits on the bed, dressed in the same jeans he’d had on yesterday but a new shirt he’d managed to find in the dresser. The door is directly in his vision as he crosses his legs and wonders if he should head out there or not. Liam doesn’t want to and figures that maybe he can hole himself up in the room, find a good book and read for the entirety of the day.

However, as soon as he thinks that, and as fate would have it, there’s a knock on the door and a low _Liam_ on the other side.

Liam rolls his eyes, climbs off the mattress and unlocks the door, swinging it open and finding Harry on the other side. “Hi,” he draws out. The other lad looks worse for wear, curls messed up, eyes tired and deep bags under his eyes.

“No sleep then?”

Harry leans up against the frame of the door and closes his eyes. “Not now. If you keep it up, I might throw up on you.”

Liam grimaces. “Why the fuck are you here then?”

The boy with green eyes manages to crack an eye open. “S’posed to give you a list of chores.”

“Lovely.”

Harry chuckles. “Sure is. I don’t get to clean up. C’mon.”

Once he gathers his bearings, Harry pushes off the threshold and makes his way down the hall expecting Liam to follow. He does, of course, because there is no way Liam’s going to be able to get out of this regardless. Unfortunately he made a deal, and he’s going to have to remember why the hell he’s doing all of this in the first place.

When they get to the end of the hall, Harry pulls open the door to allow Liam through first. What meets his eyes though, is something Liam wishes he could walk away from right now. The entirety of the room is a complete mess filled with empty beer bottles, wrappers that were once filled with god knows what. What little furniture is left in the room is a complete disaster too, and Liam just slumps his shoulders because it’s going to take hours to clean up. “Really?”

Harry shrugs. “Typically we just leave it until it bothers someone enough to clean it up.”

Liam scoffs, the fucking pigs. If this is meant to be a hangout, the least they could do is treat it as such instead of trashing it for the sake of partying. And sure, it’s not that Liam has anything against having a good time, but as he scopes out the entire place, he’s beginning to realize just why he avoided them all throughout high school (nevermind the fact that he was lucky enough to have gotten one invitation, let alone two).

“This is the closet,” Harry says, gaining Liam’s attention. It’s one of the three doors he’s tugging on, pulling it open to reveal a huge mess. Yet at the front there’s a bucket and a mop and random cleaning supplies that apparently is meant for Liam to use. “Everything should be in here. Paper towels are in one of the cupboards over there,” Harry motions to somewhere behind the bar. “After that, you should have all the glasses collected. Those need to be washed. We just use the bathroom sink.”

Liam can’t tell whether he’s distraught at the prospect of spending his day like this, but as Harry continued talking, he knows it’s going to take him awhile to get into a routine. Back at the flat, it wasn’t much work to clean since Liam was the tidy one. He made an effort, just because he’d rather not live in filth, and now is no exception either.

“Harry,” Liam calls. The other lad pauses, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand. “I got it. How about you go back to sleep?”

Harry nods slowly before a soft grin takes over his face. “Okay.”

Liam lets him move out of the way before he decides to dig through the closet and see what’s in there. As his back is turned towards the multitude of things stuffed in there, he hears Harry’s feet shuffling behind him, the door creaking open but not closed as there is a pause in the movement. “Liam?”

“Yeah?”

“You’ll be okay?”

Liam gives a tight smile although the other man can’t see him. “I will be.”

“Good.” Harry sniffs before adding. “Also, I was meant to ask you this yesterday, but well, I figured you had enough on your plate as it was seeing as you ended up with more of a story than you ever intended-”

“Harry, your point?” Liam grabs the handle of the mop, pulling it up and setting it aside. It looks decently clean, but he really has no idea.

“Right, head’s foggy. Uh, you know how to shoot?”

Liam turns himself just enough so that he can see Harry, who’s looking guilty and unresponsive to Liam’s gaze. “Shoot what?” He also thinks it’s not possible for Harry to end up paler than he already is, but it seems as if the small amount of color he had left is drained. Because of that, there’s a sinking feeling in Liam’s stomach before his eyes widen a fraction. “A gun?”

Harry’s startled at the sound of Liam’s voice, higher and louder than before. “Well...”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me; no!” Liam shakes his head, brows furrowing. “Why are you asking me that?”

“It’s just a question; I swear to god, Liam!” Harry rushes, throwing his hands out in front of him in a gesture that’s supposed to let Liam know he means no offence.

“No one in their right mind would ask me that right now. There’s something you’re not telling me,” Liam pushes. He hopes for an answer, but when Harry shakes his head Liam knows he won’t be getting one.

“Forget I asked. Get to work.” And as soon as those words ring out, Harry is gone, leaving Liam alone. If he knew the place like the back of his hand aside from three different rooms - his, the bathroom and the main room of the club (as Liam has decided to call it instead of a gang because that is too harsh of a word for him to use right now and because he’s also possibly still in a bit of denial) - he’d follow Harry and try to pry whatever information, how little it may be, out of him.

That’s not going to happen though because although Liam feels as if Harry is his only ally, he needs to keep in mind that Harry is also part of a gang, someone who actually likes Zayn and who is his right hand man. Hell, for all Liam knows, Harry could be just as dangerous, cold, and calloused as Zayn too.

It gives him a lot of food for thought as he cleans. Fortunately for him it’s a way to scrub away his frustrations, and he gets done faster than expected. His hands are pruned from wringing out the mop, and there are nearly four trash bags full of bottles and other things left behind, but the place looks so much better than it once had. And even though he’s done, Harry is still nowhere to be found, and Liam’s left alone in this big ‘ol place so he figures that maybe washing the grime away of the past two days might suit him just fine.

He ends up in the bathroom, scrubbing away at his body, watching as the water turns clear to a light brown in a matter of seconds. It feels nice, something refreshing, relaxing his muscles and giving him time to put everything aside in favor of clearing his mind.

As soon as he steps out and wraps a towel around his waist, there’s a shout from down the hall. It startles Liam, but he quickly gets dressed despite his body still being wet. The material of his clothes clings to his skin, but it’s his name being called, and Liam’s got to abide by the unmentioned rules.

“What’s going on?” he asks as soon as he steps into the den. There’s a crowd of people there, Harry just on the outskirts of a formed group. When he hears Liam, he turns and points towards the bar.

“Alcohol, Liam. Now. Paper towels too.”

Liam stalls for nearly two seconds before he realizes that Harry’s gaze is still set on him, eyes dark and intense. He only nods in response, not sure what’s going on, and he has to ignore the chill his body gets from the air hitting his damp skin.

The first bottle of alcohol is what Liam grabs along with a roll of towels, not knowing whether or not it’s going to be enough. It doesn’t matter though because there are murmurs and a few whimpers of pain, and Liam understands that something happened and whatever is going on, these people are trying to take care of it.

As soon as he gets the things he’d been asked for, he rounds the bar and has to move his way through a few people before he finally gets to see what is going on. There’s someone laying on the couch, face scrunched up in pain while one of his legs is bare and covered in blood.

“Oh,” he whispers, stopping just beside the coffee table. He’s nudged, but Liam doesn’t pay attention as he stares at the wound on the man’s thigh. It’s too big to be anything other than a knife wound and blood continuously bubbles out of it. Some of it has dried; what is fresh is crimson and wet.

“Liam.” It’s a growl, and Liam once again snaps out of his thoughts, glancing down and finding Zayn sitting on the coffee table. “Let me have those.” He nods up at Liam’s hands, and Liam thrusts the products forward, handing them off to Zayn before Zayn lets someone else take them from him.

It happens in a blur. Liam isn’t told to move and most of the men around disperse into various areas of the room while they wait on the verdict of how bad the cut is. There’s someone attending to the blood, hands shaking under the watchful gaze of Zayn.

“You’re good?” Zayn asks, throat thick.

Liam immediately picks up on he worry in his voice, but it’s faint, so light that he wonders how everyone else reads his tone.

“I’ll deep clean it, and see if I can stitch it up.”

Zayn approves apparently because then he’s standing up and letting one of his members do their job. “C’mon, Liam. I could use a drink right about now.” He pushes lightly at Liam’s waist, hands resting against his sides so that he’ll move.

He does, slowly, but not without looking over his shoulder too. It doesn’t help because Zayn’s right behind him, but the soft cries of someone in pain do nothing to ease Liam’s unsettlement.

They get to the bar in a matter of seconds, Liam becoming aware that Zayn is very much close to him. So he pulls out of his grasp, doesn’t say a word and works on finding whatever drink would be the easiest to make. He focuses on his actions rather than the noise of pain ringing out. All he can see is a needle and thread interwoven with skin, and although he hasn’t physically seen it - what is taking place right now - it’s enough to make him feel out of body and all around weird.

“You’re not going to faint on me, are you?” Zayn asks.

Liam flinches, realizing Zayn’s standing with his back against the counter directly next to him. He takes the glass from Liam’s hands, takes a sip before setting it down and reaching forward to snap his fingers at Liam to gain his full attention.

“No,” Liam says lowly, gazing up shyly at Zayn. “But this is a bit ridiculous. I don’t know why you’re doing this here. He probably needs a doctor, not a botched job.”

Zayn sneers at Liam, but when he doesn’t look fazed, Zayn relents. “If he goes to the hospital, they’ll ask questions.”

“Right,” Liam mocks, “because we can’t have that.” He looks away from Zayn, tries to watch what’s going on over on the other side of the room, but it’s no use because there are people blocking his view.

“No, we can’t.” There’s a shuffling sound, and then Liam’s bringing his gaze back over to Zayn only to find that he’s removed his leather jacket, resting it up on the bar. His shirt is white, just like Liam’s, but it’s a loose fit. Zayn’s hair is disheveled, eyes worn and staring ahead at the shelves in front of him rather than what’s going on. Liam swears something in his eyes shift any time there’s an inkling of a painful cry that has Liam wondering just what the fuck happened and why Zayn’s still here if he's finding this difficult to handle.

He doesn’t ask though for two reasons. It’s none of his business, and Liam’s only been here a day. He has yet to figure out how this whole gang thing works, how Zayn treats the rest of his members and what they’re willing to do for him. He’ll be left in the dark about a lot of it, for sure. Harry’s reluctance for most of the truth is definite proof of that, but if Liam’s already experiencing a part of this life right now, someone being hurt, he thinks he deserves to be let in a lot more than what they’re willing to give him.

Thing is though, he’s afraid of knowing too much. What he might find out could hurt him more than anything, and Liam’s thought about being an accomplice in all of this. Of course this is a shady business, which means the police, and if they can’t even take a member who’s clearly hurt to see a professional, then he has no idea how the department could react to Liam’s story, how he’ll get out of this unscathed.

Second reason he doesn’t ask is because of the fact that Zayn turns on him suddenly, licking his lips. He studies Liam for a brief moment or two before he’s lifting his left hand around and tugging on the curl of Liam’s hair. “You look good wet,” he says.

Liam blushes furiously, ducking his head down in hopes that Zayn will remove his fingers from his hair. He doesn’t though, continues to swirl the end of it in between his fingers as Liam realizes that although the air has dried most him, there are still wet patches on the top of his t-shirt from where his hair has soaked the material. “Shower,” he explains, eyes lifting up through his eyelashes and wondering why in the hell he’s acting like this. But as he does so, he’s sidetracked by the red color that graces Zayn’s inner arm.

“Zayn,” Liam says quickly, eyes widening. He ignores the position of Zayn’s hand still in his hair in favor of grabbing Zayn’s arm and turning it ever so slightly so that it falls away from Liam and is left on display. “You’re hurt.”

There’s a cut along the inside of his upper arm, and as Liam gazes at it, he notices the side of his shirt is stained red too. “Shit.” He reaches for a clean rag, not having anything else to use, before dipping it into Zayn’s drink and bringing it up to the cut. Upon further inspection, it’s nothing bad and nothing deep either, but Liam continues to clean it without any warning that it might sting. Zayn holds still as Liam dabs at it, fingers wrapped carefully around his arm. He tries to be gentle until he’s cleaned it off, and after that he lets go figuring it’ll survive without anything placed over it. “You should be careful, especially with rubbing it up against your shirt,” Liam says. “Or put a bandage over it.”

“Thought you didn’t care?” Zayn murmurs. It’s low, just between the two of them, and when Liam looks into those hazel eyes, he sucks in a deep breath because he doesn’t even know what this is. Just last night he’d found Zayn’s actions a little less than repulsive and couldn’t believe what he was getting at. Yet now Liam’s playing at concern for his wellbeing and finding Zayn a bit softer than he’d previously let on.

“I don’t,” Liam says gracefully, quickly.

It’s a lie and they both know it. Although Liam isn’t sure why that is. Of course he doesn’t know these people. He shouldn’t have to care for them in the slightest. This is more of a business deal than anything else and just the fact that he’s troubled by something so far out of his reach, only proves that Liam’s going to get attached very easily, and he can’t allow himself to do that.

“It’s done!”

They’re pulled out of their staring contest, Zayn backing up and stance completely changing. He leaves Liam where he is, with a bloody rag and a half filled glass while he attends to his duties. It's hard to figure out what happens next. There’s a lot of movement, and Liam’s too busy trying to piece himself back together, get his head screwed on straight and figure out his priorities before Harry’s saddling up next to him and asking him to go disinfect the couch.

He does as he’s told, wipes down the area by trying to convince himself it’s just red paint that stains the black of the leather cushions. There are also eyes trained on him, watching his every move and probably calculating just what he means to this entire dysfunctional family. He’s done quickly, throwing away the products he’d used to clean before settling himself behind the bar again. Liam finds that it’s become his safety net, a place where he can stand and no one will bother him. He hasn’t been properly introduced to anyone else; although, their looks give enough away that they know who he is.

There’s weariness in their eyes, like they don’t trust Liam completely just as he doesn’t trust them either. He stays there for the next hour and a half, occupying himself until Harry makes his way over and chats with him. There’s an edge to his eyes, and Liam does try to bring up the situation once, but Harry shuts him down completely.

And it isn’t long before he’s calling it a night, wanting to quickly disappear to his room where he won’t be disturbed. Harry allows him, and Liam only manages to distract himself from everything by picking out a book and reading until he falls asleep.

+

Time seems nonexistent to Liam given that hours turn into days and days turn into weeks. Of course he’d had his phone the first couple of days, but that has long since died, and he hadn’t managed to ask about charging it given that Liam’s not supposed to interact with the outside world anyway. It’s a bit ridiculous. There’s a part of him that doesn’t think the situation that Harry or Zayn has tried to tell him is as serious, but then he’d witnessed blood and that completely took away his doubt. His bullet wound should be evidence enough, especially since the pain in his shoulder throbs every now and again, causing Liam to clutch at the tendon and hope that the feeling fades quickly enough.

A few of the men have really taken to Liam too. They’re friendly, and they joke around with him enough times where Liam thinks they’re pretty decent. He’s still on guard, but it’s not hard to see that Harry approves of the slow build in relationships. Other than that, Liam spends his time hanging around mostly. There’s only so much cleaning he can do, and a majority of the time he’s left alone. Those books in his room give him enough company, but most of the time everyone is gone - save for Harry on the few occasions - so Liam’s left to his own devices. He doesn’t get up to much, although the third door still makes him wonder.

A pattern has evolved. Liam gets up in the morning, reads off the list Harry leaves behind in his neat handwriting (or listens to Harry whenever he does stay behind), waits around a couple of hours until it nears around seven in the evening and the boys come piling in. Some look a bit roughed up, other times not so much, but it’s the same thing that goes on and on.

Currently he’s sitting behind the bar, where he’s dragged a stool for himself to sit on given that his legs tend to grow tired from standing. He’s reading a book, chin in hand and eyes darting across the page when he feels a presence to his right. “Harry,” he says calmly, moving a finger to the beginning of a paragraph he was just about to start.

“You should come play poker with us,” he asks.

Liam turns, notices Harry’s eyes are exceptionally green in the dim lighting. It’s dark out and the TV, along with a few lamps, are the only things keeping the room from being swallowed in black. They’ve also left the building's door open, the faint sound of cars outside echoing across the walls. It brings Liam comfort although he hasn’t been allowed out there for so long. Which as he thinks about it, he gets an idea. “Can I ask you something?” he says, ignoring Harry’s question.

Harry’s eyes narrow a fraction of an inch, but he nods. “Sure.”

“Could we go stand outside for a bit? It’s dark, and there’s someone guarding the door. It’s just-”

“Liam,” Harry says, voice low. His head tilts to the side, and Liam hopes he’s thinking about the request.

“I’ve done as you’ve asked. We should be shielded by the parking garage anyway, and it’d be for five minutes, tops.”

Harry’s shoulders fall in reluctance, eyeing the door before he nods his head in that direction. “Yeah, c’mon.”

Liam grins and holds himself back from tackling the man. He lets go of the book, watching it as it falls closed and not caring how difficult it might be to find his place later. He allows Harry to lead him outside, where they pass the man standing just inside the door, a big, burly thing, who Liam can’t look the eyes.

As soon as he steps out, the memories of arriving here hit him. It seems like only a few days ago that he’d first come here with no knowledge of the truth, but it’s changed. He wonders about his family, and what they think. Harry had asked about it once before, letting Liam know that it’d be taken care of. But that in itself isn’t enough. As long as they’re okay, he thinks he’ll be fine with his setup, but it’s upsetting not being able to call and hear his parent’s voices.

“Breathe in all you can right now because this is the only time I’m doing this for you.” Harry wraps his arms around himself. It’s not overly cold, but the fact that they’re surrounded by cement doesn’t help warm things up either.

“How long am I supposed to be here then?” Liam asks. “I feel like I’m going crazy in there. You guys leave me alone to do god knows what, and expect me to be okay. Need I remind you that I didn’t ask for this.”

Harry walks around a bit, kicks at some of the little pebbles littering the ground. “And you realize this is your life we’re talking about? What lengths are you willing to go to protect it?”

Liam bites at his lip, filling his lungs with air that’s just a bit too damp, yet feels amazing against his skin. “Right, because I signed up for this. Is this what I’m going to continue doing? Because as of right now, it doesn’t I feel like it’s worth much of anything.”

The man with the curls stops his pacing. Liam can see his jaw clench. “You’ve no idea, Liam.” A smile, something akin to one of Zayn’s, graces Harry’s lips. It startles him because Liam’s never known Harry to get like this. “Your first day here was all about you, don’t you remember? Someone was stabbed on your behalf.”

Liam’s come to the conclusion that maybe he’s a bit slow sometimes because as far as he’s concerned, his brain likes to pause and hang up on the most peculiar pieces of information that probably shouldn’t be so shocking at this point, yet they still are. “What?”

Harry sighs. “To make you feel better. Zayn sent out a couple of people for a late run for some extra cash.”

“And that involved a knife?” It’s only a question to keep the conversation going. Liam knows that things like this can end badly. His neck had almost found that out at one point.

“Yeah, Blue Blood found him, and he wouldn’t give up any information so...” Harry trails off, shrugging one of his shoulders.

Liam runs a hand over his face before laughing lightly. “You know, I still can’t make up my mind about this. Either something is good or it’s bad, yet all of you blur the lines.”

“Good and evil is a lot more complicated than drawing a line in the ground and choosing a side, Liam.” Harry sticks his hands into his pocket and looks on at him. “Believe it or not, Zayn’s gone out of his way for you. I know you may doubt it because you haven't seen evidence, but if you’d give him some time, it’s all going to work out.”

The cool night air helps clear Liam’s thoughts. He’s not angry, just a bit mystified. Everything’s been so back and forth, hot and cold, and Liam’s left in the middle of a tornado trying to figure out which way is up and which way is down. “I don’t mean to be impatient, but me hiding away here is doing a number on me, especially when I’m kept in the dark.”

“There’s a reason for secrets.”

“Yeah,” Liam starts, pulling at his shirt and absentmindedly running his fingers over his shoulder, “but they don’t always guarantee safety.”

Harry blinks before looking away, teeth running over his bottom lip. “You know pretty much everything you need to know, Liam. You know what we do; you know why you’re here. What else do you want?”

“Answers to any questions I have.”

“I can’t promise that.”

“Fine,” Liam huffs, because he knows that most of his questions are things that take time to get answers for. He’s just being impatient. “What about you then? Or Zayn? What got you into this mess?”

Harry’s entire face clouds over with shadows of pain. It almost has Liam regretting his topic of conversation. “I won’t tell you about Zayn because that’s not my place, but I think you’ve given me enough of your life already so it’s only fair.” He takes seat on one of the parking stops on the ground, patting it so that Liam can join him. “There’s not much to tell really. It was just me, and my mum. We lived in a bad part of town where the people weren’t nice, and it was best to lock your windows and doors.” Harry scraps his foot across the ground, picking at his jeans.

Liam thinks his eyes look a bit shiny, but the light out here isn’t good, and he could be seeing things.

“We weren’t close, if you were wondering. So when I found her in her room, on the bed and a bottle in her hand, I knew she wasn’t coming back.” He sniffs, and Liam tentatively brings a hand around his shoulders, pulling him into his side.

“That’s awful, Harry.”

“So I fended for myself. Found Zayn along the way, and he’s treated me like a brother ever since.”

“The loyalty makes sense then.”

Harry laughs; it’s quiet, but Liam feels the breath of it against his skin. “To be honest, I give him too much. And as much as I tell you to behave yourself around him,” Harry turns slightly, pulling himself away from Liam’s hold on him to stare at him, “don’t you ever let him intimidate you.”

Liam’s eyes widen a bit, not sure why Harry’s talking like this. “Why’s that?”

The other lad clears his throat, smile threatening to break out across his face. “Because more than anything, it’s all for show. Well,” Harry waves a hand, “I shouldn’t say that because it isn’t, but it _is_ for you.”

And Liam doesn’t know what’s funnier, the idea that Harry is actually ratting Zayn out, or the fact that Zayn’s not so much a big bad wolf as his presence seems to be. “I think I’m perfectly aware of what he’s capable of.”

It’s lighthearted, but it makes Harry pause before speaking. “Do you?” Those undefined eyebrows raise, and Liam’s left small because maybe he’s wrong.

“Yes,” Liam first states, but it’s out of hesitancy. “Okay, maybe not, but if him trying to scare me the first day is any indication, I wouldn’t put it past him to be all sorts of reckless.”

Harry nods once. “Good. Don’t. The only reason he’s been okay with you - mostly avoiding you actually,” Liam makes a noise, but Harry presses on, “is because I feel like you remind him of what he used to be.”

Liam’s face scrunches up. “How can that be? We’ve been in the same room a total of four times, Harry.”

“And in those four encounters you’ve noticed a difference in your persons, correct?” Harry’s gaze shifts to the view in front of him, graffiti tagged wall full of words that have been faded.

“Yes, there’s a blatant contrast.”

“People change, Liam. All the time, in fact. For better or worse and all that shit.” Harry visibly swallows, biting at the inside of his cheek. “I’m not saying that who I know now is terrible, but what’s there isn’t who he was before. You’re the epitome of innocence, and I think there’s a part in all of us that wishes we could go back to that.”

Sadness is what Liam feels now. It’s melancholy, a longing for things to be different than they are. Liam can only imagine half of these guys in scenarios, going to school or finding a lovely date they’d love to impress. It’s like a life that had been taken away for god knows what reason, and that aches something fierce inside. “Would it be stupid of me to ask for you to go back?”

Harry side-eyes him, but doesn’t make a sound.

So Liam licks the front of his teeth and continues. “Get away from all of this and start over? It doesn’t have to be like this, does it?”

Harry pushes up off his seat, taking a few steps away from Liam before turning around. He stands there in the near darkness, but Harry doesn’t speak. There are various crickets chirping, and the noises from outside finding their way into the crevices of the cemented walls. However the eerie silence doesn’t last long because when Harry shakes his head, he looks defeated and torn; so much so that Liam wants to pull him in a hug so tight and shield him from everything bad he’s ever known in this world. “Sometimes you dig yourself into a hole so deep, there’s no way out.”

And his tone is raspy, low and uneven as he explains the sealed fate of not only himself, but for every person who walks through the door of the club.

Liam wonders if it applies to him. It shouldn’t given the fact that all of this was Niall’s doing; he should be here now instead of Liam. Yet on the other hand, Liam’s stayed of his own accord despite having so many opportune moments to walk out. Maybe that says something in itself.

“Liam, just hang in there, yeah?” Harry says, bringing Liam back to the conversation. “It won’t be forever, and as much as I hate saying this, if you value your life enough, you’ll stay.”

He shakes his head hair falling lightly into Liam’s eyes until he ducks his head to obscure his view of Harry.

“We should head back in now. Zayn can’t know about this either.”

Liam feels a hand wrap around his arm, tugging him upwards until he follows. They’re standing close to one another, both him and Harry, and Liam feels nothing but sweet warmth fill his belly for the younger lad. “You’d do great in college,” he mentions. “Probably make a really good therapist with all your logic and sweet talk.”

Harry cracks a smile, teeth and all before he’s reaching an arm around Liam’s shoulders and pulling him into a side hug. “And you’d make a very good maid.”

Liam pouts before poking Harry in the side. “Don’t be rude.”

“It’s a perfectly legitimate job!” He laughs, removing himself from Liam and taking off into the building with Liam on his trail. When he gets to the door, noticing that Harry’s left him behind in favor of the poker game he’d abandoned earlier, he gives one last look behind him, to the outside world that doesn’t look like much from this point of view anyway and wonders when he’ll be able to leave without worrying that another bullet might find him.

+

The ceiling is not bringing Liam any comfort no matter how long he stares at it. It’s just white, popcorn-textured treatment that has him frowning the more he gazes upwards. He’d been able to find quite a few interesting designs, as if he were picking out shapes in the clouds, but even that isn’t helping him fall asleep at the moment.

It’s rare when he gets like this, so frayed at the edges, tight and wound up with excess energy. It’s restlessness at the very least, and Liam hates it more than anything. The main cause of his sudden distress is the fact that Liam’s done all he can around the gang’s nest, and it isn’t enough to occupy his mind. He’s thankful to Harry for allowing him outside; granted it was within a parking garage, but Liam wants to push his limits a little more and see if maybe it’s possible to step out further.

It’s only an idea, and one he doesn’t plan on following through unless he takes it to Zayn, and Liam’s scared of that. He’s had time to process what he thinks of Zayn. The main thing is that he isn’t scared of Zayn himself, rather the idea of what lies behind the kind eyes he manages to give Liam from time to time. Of course there are gray areas, parts Liam is sure he doesn’t know about and will never know about Zayn. He’s something else, but Liam’s finding it hard to see him (and Harry too) in a negative light.

If there has ever been a moment in Liam’s life where he’s needed warning signs going off in his head, it’d be now. But because that’s not the case, Liam’s slowly slipping into the comradery of things. It’d probably be different if he actually saw the events these men tell stories about (they try to keep their voices down, tone lowering whenever Liam enters the room or is behind the bar so he won’t hear), mostly about how crazy some of their customers are and the fact that they've gotten to the point where they’ve let people slide in payments because they’ve paid in _other_ ways.

Basically, Liam’s having a hard time hearing the reality and connecting it with so. Stories are only stories, and the horror of them has no true meaning. He tries to reconcile the two, tries to keep his distance and remind himself where he’s at and why he’s here, but as the hours and days drag on, it’s not just a blur, Liam can feel himself slipping through the cracks, agreeing with various parts of violence as a matter of self-defense. They try to keep as much as they can from him; they all do, and Liam knows that order comes directly from Zayn himself, but it’s not enough.

Liam thinks he’s trying to find the whole truth and nothing but so that maybe it’ll give him a reason to continue siding with the law instead of the delinquents and jailbirds he’s found a home with. The only thing he truly knows for certain - that will eventually happen if things progress as they are now - is that he'll get to a point where the line is strictly blurred, and he'll be left with a morality crisis.

It doesn't sound appealing in the slightest.

Liam huffs, kicking the comforter off of his body so that he can get out of bed. He's too wide awake to sleep and the thought of sitting alone in his room suffocates him, so Liam makes a quick decision and leaves, headed for the main area. The idea of alcohol at this time of night fascinates him, so it's what he heads to first. He's a good lad, tries not to drink and hasn't so much as had a drop of it since he's begun serving it, but right now maybe he can put enough in his system so he'll fall asleep.

When he cracks the hallway door open, Liam peeks around it, not quite sure if anyone's here. Sometimes people pass out on the couch, or the floor if they're that tired, but it looks like no one is there. Only, when Liam crosses the threshold over to the shelves of alcohol, illuminated by the neon sign hanging in a strategically placed part of the wall, he finds someone moving about.

He's startled, draws back until he notices the movements and the soft lines that make up Zayn. He's definitely not in his normal attire, dressed down into a pair of sweatpants, no shirt and a single necklace around his neck that glitters in the low light. Black hair is mussed and rumpled, and Liam knows he's having just as rough a night as he.

"I can fix you something, if you want," Liam says lowly. He thinks he might have the upper hand here by startling Zayn, use it as some sort of payback for the shit he’s had to deal with from the lad. Although it doesn’t work because Zayn doesn’t flinch, nor does he turn around to properly greet Liam like he thinks he should. It’s probably just a sign of bitterness, rudeness that’s developed. Liam wouldn’t want to think him a complete savage, but it’s the closest he’s come to a human who’s nearing the edge.

“You always up this late?” Zayn asks, voice as warm as honey. It’s not an accusation, just a question that Liam doesn’t bother to answer until he’s found a good bottle of Jack and has poured himself a drink to satisfy the feeling of utter failure at being able to fall asleep.

“Depends.”

“Something’s on your mind then.”

The sound of glass clinking on glass erupts the dullness before the sound of liquid sloshing about is heard next. “Maybe.”

“It’s simply yes or no.”

Liam snorts, throws back his drink and grimaces at the bitterness. He also stands away from Zayn, too afraid to look to his left to stare, although now he can feel eyes boring into his side. “From what I’ve gathered, life isn’t so.”

Zayn hums, and then he’s shifting, moving past Liam with grace, not bothering to touch him as his bare feet clad against the ground. Liam thinks they’ve got to be cold, his own toes curling at the thought of not having his socks around them. “Harry says you’ve been thinking a lot.”

His lips purse, pulls his attention over to Zayn now that he’s away from Liam, only to find that he’s standing against the threshold of the third door that Liam’s always wondered about. A soft, yellow light emits from the room, drowns out the darkness that makes up Zayn and halos him in something close to purity as one might get. “Yeah; well, Harry says a lot of things.”

Zayn chuckles, bringing his glass to his lips before he pulls back, straightening his stance and nodding over his shoulder. “C’mere.”

But Liam doesn’t, knowing better than to listen right off the bat because Zayn’s already led him into two situations he had rather wanted to avoid, and a third is definitely not on his list. “Suit yourself, but I’m a bit of a loose lip when I’ve got enough in me, and now would be a grand time to ease your troubles.” He shrugs, taking a few steps backwards before his hand comes to rest on the door. Zayn’s about to close it, and Liam feels his heart leap into his throat as he stares wide-eyed at the other man.

“No,” he says sternly because as much as Zayn is Zayn, and as much as Liam should count his stars and hope all of this ends well, the chance to find out anything from Zayn is still too much of an enticement to pass up. Liam, however, doesn’t have much to ask, rather there is one thing on his mind - two things on his mind - when he thinks about it. “It’s only fair,” he responds, holding up his glass before downing the liquid. He stares at Zayn as he does so, not quite sure why but needing to prove that he’s willing. The other man just nods and watches as Liam pours himself another drink, setting the glass down and finally slipping away from the counter towards Zayn and the light.

The room is quite large for its size. It’s actually a lot nicer than Liam ever expected. Most of the furniture looks like leather, the smell gravitating towards his nose as he sits in one of the chairs. Zayn, on the other hand, takes a seat in a chair behind a wooden desk. The space looks like an office, a legitimate business where papers are stacked up on the corners of the flat service, pens strewn about.

“Busy?” Liam asks.

Zayn settles himself in his chair, leaning back and lifting his legs up onto the desk and crossing them. “Never for you, darling.” He winks, elbow resting on the arm of his seat with his drink in hand. “I’m going over numbers, if you’re really that curious.”

Liam’s not interested in that. It’s not to be mean, but Zayn’s duties don’t concern Liam directly, unless it’s dealing with a certain gang out to kill him. “Fun,” he remarks.

“Always. If only some of these men hadn’t dropped out of high school-”

“Are you suggesting that your own lackey’s are stupid?” Liam cuts in. He tilts his head and leans back in his own chair, figuring it’s best to get comfortable.

“You’ve got a fucking mouth, don’t you?” That little smirk finds it’s way on Zayn’s face. It’s tilted upwards, and Liam can’t help but think this might turn out like the other night if he’s not careful. “I wasn’t going to suggest that, not really. They’re plenty street smart, yes, but when it comes to figuring out whether or not we’re all keeping up our end of the work, that’s where I come in.” Zayn’s mischievousness diminishes slightly as he speaks in favor of staring at the wall.

It’s honestly hard to read him, but Liam realizes Zayn’s frustrations. This isn’t just about keeping tabs on his men and making sure they’re all in line, but more about the workload and the effort it takes to keep things running smoothly around here. Zayn’s in charge for a reason, obviously. He’s got some amount of skill if he’s able to keep a whole entire group of men in line as well as run a shady business, but as Liam stares, it seems that there are frown lines at the edges of his lips, little grooves amongst the tan skin that give way to more grievances than victories. “Do you want out?” Liam asks suddenly. Normally he’d probably regret it, especially considering that it’s a answer that could lead straight back to a sign of weakness, but Zayn apparently doesn’t see it that way, or at least he thinks he’s safe here because he answers.

“Wouldn’t that be great?” His brow furrows. “Walk away from the issues we face because it’s easier running away from our problems, isn’t it?”

“That’s not what I-”

“Of course it isn’t, but it’s what you implied regardless.” Zayn blinks over to Liam, staring at him hard. “Seems I’m always reminding you of things, aren’t I? Your friend Niall-”

“ _Our_ friend Niall,” Liam quickly corrects until Zayn clicks his tongue in disapproval.

“Niall, our dear Irish _cunt_ , decided to leave, decided he wanted out. Just because you leave, Liam,” and Zayn points at him with a finger, “doesn’t mean that the things we go through are really over. Because the messes we leave behind will always be there for someone else to clean up. And I’m afraid if you haven’t learned that already, we’re going to be in a bit of trouble.”

“I just asked if you wanted out, a scenario of sorts.”

“And playing the _what if_ game will end in death. In here, Liam, we need plans and calculations. We never go into anything blindsided, at least if I can help it.” Zayn removes his legs from the table suddenly. Liam’s not quite sure what he’s doing, but as Zayn bends, he hears a cabinet door opening before a cigarette and its lighter are placed upon the table. “You mind?”

Liam shakes his head and bites back a comment he’d like to make, but useless arguing isn’t going to get him anywhere. And just as he’s about to speak up again now that Zayn seems slightly more relaxed as he brings the fag up to his lips after lighting it, he thinks now is a good a time as ever to speak. However, before he can make a noise, Zayn’s waving away the first puff of smoke and talking. “Speaking of which, I understand Harry’s nice, but if you take advantage of him again,” Zayn licks his lips, “there will be consequences. What you did was without my permission.”

His tone is hollow, and Liam immediately recognizes it as a threat rather than small talk as it was done before. Liam frowns though, not appreciating the fact that Zayn still thinks he has a right over what he does. Especially in this particular case given that he hadn’t done anything to Harry but rely on him as a confidante. “Excuse you,” Liam decides to say, eyes narrowing and lips pulling back to reveal his distaste. “I’ve done nothing but follow orders and do my fair share around here. So if you’ve brought me in here to _scold_ me, then there is no bloody fucking way I’ll be sticking around.” He makes a move to stand up and leave the room, not caring about anything else at the moment, but then Zayn looks different, dark, and Liam can honestly say he feels like he did the first time they both met.

“Maybe I should be demanding answers from Harry and what the bloody fuck he was thinking letting you out," The cig rests just between two of Zayn's fingers, but it's left unattended as he pronounces his words. "But it’s not going to happen again. Is that clear?”

Liam licks the front of his teeth, deciding that he’d rather stand regardless of how Zayn chooses to react. He’s on the defense and looking down at Zayn will make him feel like he as an advantage. “Don’t go there. I asked Harry because I’ve been here for _weeks_. Do you know how exhausting it is doing the same thing over and over without having any sort of freedom?”

As soon as Liam finishes speaking, a hand slams down onto the desk (which definitely startles Liam) before Zayn is standing up too, sending his chair flying backwards. He leans the upper half of his body over the desk before take a brief moment to stub out the fag. “And just when I thought you were beginning to understand what was going on here...”

“Fuck you, Zayn,” Liam spits. “I know what’s going on, but leaving me here isn’t doing anything for my safety either. I’d like to see the sun every once in awhile and not feel like a prisoner in a situation I wanted _nothing to do with_.”

“And your life-”

“What about it?” Liam’s voice rises, hands curling into fists by his side. He can feel his blood boiling because this isn’t how he wanted things to end up; yet so far it has. Zayn creeps right on the very edge of Liam’s patience and does things to Liam he can’t fully grasp. “That it’s important? That it could all be over? Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I’ve experienced it?” Liam doesn’t specifically point to the area he’s talking about, but Zayn’s eyes do flicker back down to Liam’s shoulder. “This is a silly debt, and I’ve already been reassured by you that everything will be taken care of. You’ve got men to help you around. How would me leaving for five minutes tops be any different?”

Zayn straights himself when he realizes that his posture has no effect on Liam. He’s really the only person Zayn's had trouble guiding to listen to what he has to say. It puts him on edge, not being able to control the little fireball; Zayn can honestly say he admires that, but it might cause problems later on. “You do realize who you’re talking to? That what I say goes, right?”

“Right, cry big bad wolf when there’s an argument because no one else is willing to stand up for what might be best.”

“It’s order-”

“No,” Liam shakes his head. “It’s a dictatorship. Maybe your men need you to survive, but I guess you’ve forgotten that you’re helping me out as a favor, as a _promise_. That’s locked, isn’t it?” He shuffles forward, but not enough in case Zayn decides to reach out for him and pull him close. “Apparently you can’t go back on your word given that this means so much to you for whatever reason. And don’t get me wrong, I’m thankful for that, but what that also means is that you aren’t my superior, and if I decide to question judgment, then maybe it’s to help you rethink some of your choices in regards to how you’re handling my situation, let alone those who are willing to die for you because of _money_.”

Zayn’s eyes narrow, and while Liam thinks he’s going to say something else, he instead pulls back, arm along with him until Liam realizes that Zayn is going to slap him. However, the hit doesn’t come, but Zayn’s breathing is deep as he holds himself still. His eyes do not diminish the seething heat they bring towards Liam, and he waits for the inevitable, waits for the sound of skin on skin and the sting on his cheek.

When it still doesn’t come, and when Liam opens his eyes, realizing he’s closed them, he finds that Zayn has taken a step away from the desk, further away from Liam.

Given this, Liam decides to take his chance and continue, figuring that not only does his truth get a rise out of Zayn, but they cause him to lose focus. It’s not the kind of reaction Liam had been hoping for, but it’s a start in helping Zayn realize that Liam’s not a pet, not something to keep completely hidden from view just because of the possible danger that lurks. Liam hates to say it, but he remembers Zayn’s promise to keep him safe, and he knows for certain that that would still be the case if Liam were placed in any sort of pitfall.

Even then, there’s something much bigger in the room than the both of them bitching about Liam seeing the sun. It lays heavily in the air, not yet prodded with words, but it resides nonetheless. Liam doesn’t think he has enough in him to strike again though. What he’s done now - what they both have done now will be enough for the night until another storm shadows their senses, and Liam's left speaking more bitter words.

But dare he say it, he trusts the fucker. And for whatever reason, Liam would like to say it's Harry's fault.

“Scaring me into submission isn’t going to work. I may be new to all of this, but I refuse to let you drag me down,” Liam says. His heart is racing, and he can feel his hands shaking by his side, especially as he watches Zayn eventually move closer to him.

“Alright, Liam,” he starts. “That’s fine by me. If I can’t scare you with bodily harm, then I will make you see otherwise, and I will make damn well sure that you’re proper scared.”

Liam swallows, breathes deeply but stares straight ahead. “And why is that? Why’s it so important to you that you’ve got to drill it into my head that I should be terrified? I thought the point of this was to dominate the competition and show signs of leadership and keep me out of harm's way.”

He flinches as soon as he feels cool fingers reach around his neck. They hold a light grip, and as Liam turns to look, he finds that Zayn’s staring at him with something Liam can’t place. His eyes almost look wet, as if he’s on the verge of crying, and his hand is resting on heated skin, petting absentmindedly. “Just because you’re on top, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be afraid, Liam,” he says softly, a deep contrast to the person who had wanting to strike Liam before. “It only proves that you’ve had the skill to get to the top, but it also shows that those before them were also weak enough to be taken down too. You need to be afraid, not of me and not of my men because I won’t let them touch a single hair on your head, but you need to be terrified with what’s out there.”

Liam sucks in a breath, brings his head back and tries to step away from Zayn’s hand, but he only pulls Liam back to him, keeps his hand there. It’s like he’s trying to get Liam to _feel_ what he’s feeling and not only see it. “I’m reluctant to share truth because it’s not a good idea for a man in my position to do so, but I’ll let on that I’m just as scared as the men below me, if not more. I’ve got everything I know hanging on by a thread, and it could break in a matter of seconds. It wouldn’t be fair to any of us if you didn’t understand it either.”

Seconds pass before Zayn finally releases Liam, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as if to shield a sob that could possibly escape. Liam breathes a little easier, but not by much because of Zayn’s admittance to what’s really going on. If he’s unsure of the outcome of what he’s known for a good chunk of his life, then what is stopping Liam from understanding the same doubts? But he doesn’t get it, not really.

“You be prepared, Liam. When I call, you better be ready, and just remember that this is what you asked for.” Zayn peers up at Liam through his long lashes before darting out of the room quickly. Liam turns, watches him flee and wants to catch up with him, but by the time his brain registers what’s happening, there’s already a slam of the door. And even if Liam tried to go after him now, he wouldn’t know where to go.

He sighs, lets the tight feeling in his chest dissolve into nothing more than steady pace of breathing. Sitting down sounds appealing right now, but Liam can’t stand to be in this room, so he leaves, favors walking to his own before settling down in bed.

It takes him much longer to fall asleep than it probably would've if he had just stayed here instead of trying to ease his mind with a drink. But now it’s too late, and Liam’s thrown himself under the bus because he’d released his temper. There’s no way he should blame himself for this given that the argument with Zayn started with an accusation, but Liam’s not used to his presence or how to defend himself just yet.

Liam makes a promise to himself right then and there that he’s going to do it one of these days, show Zayn that people can be equals with so much more depth to them than someone who follows orders. After all, Liam refuses to play along with this charade, wanting something more for himself than whatever the hell it is Zayn is willing to offer.

This wasn't what he had planned. And really, _none_ of this is what Liam had contemplated, but he recognizes the fact that he's going to have to show Zayn that he's more than a boy, that he can be trusted, and more importantly, prove that he's not fragile and delicate as everyone seems to think.

+

Things continue on as they normally do for Liam although it's with the added hesitation that something big is going to be happening. Zayn tends to give him stares occasionally, but that's as he's walking by the bar and into his office-like space. Other than that, he steers clear of him, which is fine by Liam, if he's honest. If they happened near one another again, it'd probably end up in another argument, and Liam's still pissed from last time.

However, it's on a Saturday when things take a turn. For the worst, Liam has yet to find out, but he's actually awoken by Harry, who shoves at his shoulder and forces him out of slumber.

"I don't know what the fuck you did, Liam Payne, but I swear to god you better realize this is all your fault!"

Liam bats away at Harry's hands on the side of his body. It doesn't work in getting the other man to stop though, especially seeing as he continues pushing Liam. "Get the fuck up. C'mon."

He groans, turns in bed so that he's laying on his side where Harry has no choice but to remove his hands from Liam’s body. "What's happening?"

With Harry's brows furrowed and a frown on his face, Liam realizes that he's proper angry and not just messing about. It makes him feel bad for being difficult, but really, he has no idea what time it is and normally he sleeps in, not only because he’s allowed, but because of the fact that there’s very little else for Liam to do otherwise.

Harry licks his lips though, runs a hand through his curls before tugging on them. "We're leaving," he says simply.

It takes more than a couple of seconds for Liam to process those words, but as soon as he does, he sits up, blankets pooling around his lower waist as he looks to Harry. "Really?" There's wariness to his voice because why in the world would they be leaving, especially after Zayn had told him _not_ to step outside of the building? Harry could be messing with him, but by the look on his face, it's too serious to be anything but.

"Yes, really, and apparently that argument you had with Zayn, the one he's kept mum about this past week and won't tell me what the fuck it was about, is the cause of it. So lucky you," Harry shoves his shoulder, and Liam nearly falls over on his side before catching himself on his arm. "You get to go out while I get to spend today worrying about whether or not he's gonna fuck you over."

Harry chews at his lip before shaking his head. He sighs too but doesn't comment further. Instead he leaves Liam be in favor of one of the dresser drawers, going over to it and pulling out a few articles of clothing to throw at Liam.

"What the hell does that mean, Harry?" Liam asks. He pulls himself out of bed, grabbing the clothes as Harry chucks them over his shoulder.

"You'll find out," Harry responds, head still bent as he sorts through the clothes.

There's more than enough in Liam's hand by now, but Harry's still digging until he gets to the bottom of the drawer. He pulls out something that is shinier than the rest of the cloth material. It looks like a jacket, where silver zippers are splayed across the entirety of it, leading to deep pockets and secrets.

Liam doesn't ask why Harry is staring at the leather. He holds it up in front of himself so that the both of them can see, but Harry hangs on to it, where fingers curl into the fabric, clutching tightly as if it might fall and disappear.

The spell doesn't last long before Harry's lowering the jacket, turning around and thrusting his arm forward. "Get dressed and put this on. Meet me out front." He avoids Liam's gaze, but Liam can definitely tell that something's not right here. He doesn't know what it is, but he can see that Harry is now fidgety and looks as if he's about to drop the jacket if Liam doesn't take it soon.

So he does; Liam sets down the pile of clothes in his hand on the bed before reaching out for the leather clothing. It's quite soft and textured, feels really cool against his hands, and before he can ask what it's for, Harry is shoving past him and leaving the room. Liam looks behind him, but since there's not much to see, his brown eyes return their attention to his hands and what's in them.

His lips purse, and while he'd like to sit here and ponder about a jacket, he delicately places it over the end of the bed frame before quickly changing out of his sweatpants into a simple pair of jeans and a t-shirt. The jacket goes on last. Liam's careful to slip it over his arms and across his shoulders. It's a bit snug against the broadness of his chest, but it still covers his body nicely. There's no telling what this means, but he goes with it anyway.

As soon as he’s dressed, Liam leaves his room, and when he to the den, there are a total of three people waiting on him: Harry and two unfamiliar men he's never seen before. They're dressed similarly to him, but they look stoic whereas Harry doesn't look pleased with what's taking place. His hair is slightly disheveled, and he’s not wearing any sort of leather material. His jeans are a deep navy blue contrasted against a deep green plaid shirt.

"It fits. Good," he murmurs as Liam approaches. He nods slightly, shyly because he feels more than uncomfortable in this attire. Liam's very aware of the difference and how the material sits on his body, but he can only imagine how he looks too. "We'll be off then." Harry sniffs before leading the way out of the building, expecting Liam to follow. They walk out of the hideout and straight into the parking garage where a black car is sitting idle waiting for them.

Harry’s the first to climb in, not bothering to let Liam in like last time but as soon as he climbs inside, the door is shut behind him by one of the two men that had been by Harry’s side. Those same two men climb into the front of the car before the engine is started, and they’re driving off.

Liam knows this ride will be silent if he doesn’t speak up. It’s obvious that Harry is not willing to say anything, and it’s hard to get a read on him. Liam thinks he’s mad, or at the very least unhappy, but Liam wants to know if he’s the main cause of his stress. He’s caused enough trouble for everyone as it is, regardless of this being his fault, and just the fact that he might’ve done something to hurt Harry puts him off in ways he can’t explain.

“Harry,” Liam starts. “Are you okay?”

The other lad just licks his lips and stares out of the window. The scenery passes by them quickly, and Liam thinks he should be paying attention to the left and rights that they’re taking so that maybe he can find his way out of here if the opportunity arises. But Liam doesn’t, can’t bring himself to pay attention to it now that he notices how Harry looks defeated.

“You don’t know where we’re going, Liam. And to be honest, it’s the last place I’d wanted you to see.”

Liam feels bad, but still, he doesn’t know what for. “I’m feeling a bit guilty now, but you’re not even being specific enough for me to know why.”

Harry sighs before turning to Liam. He looks a bit cross, but it doesn’t last long as he notices Liam looking distraught. “Damnit; why do you have to look at me like that?”

He bites back a smile, thinking Harry giving up on being upset at him is quite adorable. There’s still a air of seriousness, but those green eyes look a lot more sincere and laid back. “There’s only three reasons as to why someone would want to go out to the Range, and even then, one of those options isn’t a choice.”

Liam reflects on where he’s heard that name before, something Zayn had mentioned when he’d been enraged at Liam’s presence. He hadn’t bothered asking about it, especially with Harry’s face running cold at the name, but it looks like Liam’s in for it now. “Should I be worried?”

“Depends,” Harry begins. “It’s more about how you take in today’s events rather than you being stricken by it as a whole.”

“Well, you want to explain it to me then?”

Harry snorts and looks in front of him, trying to get a good view of where they’re at. “I think it’s best if we wait. We’ll be meeting him there.”

“Zayn?” Liam immediately responds.

Harry side-eyes him quickly, a smirk taking shape on his face rather than his downcast mood from before. “Yeah, him.”

And Harry says no more despite Liam trying to get more from him. He only smiles at Liam, lips tight and pulled as he does so. It’s a cross between being artful and somber, a definite mood that Liam doesn’t like on Harry one bit.

The ride takes a good forty minutes or so. It’s long, and Liam’s legs start to ache from not having much room to stretch his legs. He doesn’t complain though, rather he tries to focus all of his attention outside, placing his elbow on the armrest and his chin in his hand as the building and trees pass by them. The view outside eventually changes though; a lot of the buildings become even more crumbled than they were on the outskirts of town, and it looks like the car is drifting off into a place of desertion rather than a separate area Harry had been less than specific about. The land is mostly flat, dry and barren with weeds and random plants that look like they’re dying from lack of water. Liam’s able to feel the heat of the sun from against the window, and even if he’d only felt the coolness within the parking garage earlier, he can definitely tell that it’s hot and humid.

“Harry-”

“We’re almost there,” he says softly, cutting off Liam before he can finish.

Liam wasn’t going to ask if they were close. He’d wanted to know where they were specifically, given that there is nothing but land amongst them. He’s afraid to look behind him, knowing that if he does, all he’d be able to see are tall buildings of a city he once knew. That thought alone has him panicked so he switches his frame of mind quickly enough, forcing his contemplation on the road and how it eventually grows unstable, bumpy and uneven. There are no other signs of life out here aside from the random spurts of trees and ankle high grass that litters the ground. No cars are around save for the occasional one or two that pass, and Liam feels like he’s in one of those sci-fi movies where the world’s gone to shit and they’re the only people left alive.

Although as soon as his imagination takes over, the car is turning on a lone road surrounded by a bunch of trees. The path is gravel and has the car shaking, but it doesn’t last long as it eventually pulls into a wide area of land that spreads out across acres of hills. There are bouts of flat surfaces, but most of them are small mounds of dirt, creating crevices in the land.

The car eventually parks seeing as there is no way it’d be able go any further. At this point, Harry climbs out of the car and motions for Liam to follow him. The two men in the car don’t climb out, and Liam looks back at them briefly when Harry rounds the car and tugs on his arm. “Let’s get this over with.”

Harry leads the both of them towards a rather large hill, and as much as Liam would like to announce question after question, he doesn’t because then Harry is pulling him further along. “Just over this hill, yeah.”

Liam frowns, but follows. The hill isn’t so steep that he’s afraid of falling back, but it does take a bit of effort to climb it. Harry makes it to the top first, turning around and waiting for Liam to catch up. He stares up at Harry as he does so, concentrating on his face while also trying to look around at where they are. He could literally yell, and no one would be able to find them. It’s a bit problematic, but then he’s at the top and Harry is pointing down below, and Liam’s met with a view he didn’t expect.

The small mountain of land they’re standing on isn’t so tall, but it’s high enough that it looks out over a flat surface of green grass and wooden boards on the other end. It reminds him of a football field, how long and wide it is, yet just on the outskirts, on the other side of the field, there’s an area that is mostly dirt. It’s not as pretty as what’s before both Liam and Harry, but Liam’s too captured with the way the sun is bouncing off of nature and bringing it to life.

“Enjoy it while you can, Liam. This land looks beautiful, but it’s the biggest lie you’ll ever know.” Harry turns to him slowly, raising a hand up over his eyes so that he can block out the sun and stare at him with those fucking green eyes. He doesn’t look scared, but he doesn’t look happy either, and the way that his mouth tilts downwards has Liam curious about what he’s talking about.

Their moment of pause is interrupted by a shout, and Harry’s head quickly turns to look down at the few people that are below on the field. Liam hadn’t noticed them, but he does notice the way that Harry’s shoulders stiffen. “Plug your ears,” he says quickly, reaching up for his own. “The fucking bastard is going to shoot.”

Liam doesn’t have time to question anything as he does what he’s told because about two seconds later, a loud noise startles the both of them. As Liam gazes down, he realizes someone’s shooting a gun, and while the sound of it going off might’ve not done any damage with both him and Harry standing so far away, Liam’s never been around anything like this before and is glad he’d been forewarned.

“I swear to god,” Harry mumbles. He starts down the other  side of the hill before he realizes Liam’s not following. He stops then, looks back up at the other lad and motions for him to come along. “You’re both fucking idiots, making me do this. I don’t like choosing sides. C’mon, Liam.”

Liam feels like a goddamn puppy, being dragged around and told to go here and there, but fuck it. He listens anyway because he knows that his argument with Zayn brought him here, so he might as well enjoy what he can get all the while figuring out why they’re _here_ of all places.

It doesn’t take long for them to reach the bottom where the ground levels out. From there it’s a straight walk over to a couple of people hanging around, including Zayn who’s got a gun in his hand a smirk on his face. Liam’s more than startled, and it clicks in his head why Harry had cursed Zayn out earlier. He’d probably shot the gun just to give Liam some sort of reference.

He shakes his head as he comes to a standstill behind Harry, the other bloke blocking half of his body from Zayn’s grasps. “Just, don’t hurt him, yeah?” Harry asks. He looks back at Zayn with a bit of guilt before he walks away, leaving Liam standing there gawking at him.

“You’re going to have to get used to not having Harry around,” Zayn says. The gun is still in his hand, but it’s lowered. There’s a pair of earmuffs around his neck from having had to cover his ears, and when Liam briefly glances in the direction that Zayn’s standing, he finds that there are targets on the other side of the field.

“You brought me to a gun range?” Liam asks, ignoring Zayn completely. He licks his lips, feels the heat of the sun bearing down on his being, and it feels good. He knows he’ll be sticky with sweat soon given the leather jacket twisted around his body, but that’s fine with him so long as he’s able to stand out here in the cool breeze for a bit longer.

“No,” Zayn says, “ the _Range_.” He emphasis the word for Liam just to make sure that he understands that despite this being what Liam had said it was, it has a proper name.

“Okay,” Liam nods once, humoring Zayn as if he understands where he’s going with this. “And why am I here?”

If Liam could describe what happens next, he’d say it’d probably be one of the most breathtaking, incredulous moments of Liam’s life because while he can say plenty of things are fucked up, nothing compares to the way that Zayn smiles. It glistens in the sun, half of his body shrouded in the light, lips pulled back and tongue pressing against his teeth. It’s definitely a genuine smile, but with the way his eyes sparkle with insidious intent, Liam gets a peculiar unsettlement in his stomach.

“Don’t complain about the things given to you,” he says.

Liam’s mouth opens slightly before he gets his thoughts together. “I’m not...” he huffs. “I’m not _complaining_. That’s not what this is about.”

“Of course it isn’t.”

His teeth clench together, jaw firm and face set into a borderline glare. “Would you fucking stop trying to be so goddamn confusing and just explain?”

But that smile says in place, possibly even grows wider as Zayn looks on. “You’ll get to spend some time outside, while simultaneously learning how to shoot a gun.” Those thick eyebrows raise slowly, eyes flickering to his right to stare down at the targets at the other end of the field.

Liam, however, makes a startled noise, draws back when he notices the way that Zayn’s fingers curl around the object a little tighter. “You’re kidding.”

“But I’m not,” Zayn replies. “You get your way, and I get mine. Especially considering that I’m abiding by your wants. You’ll be running tonight - tomorrow at the very latest.”

Liam doesn’t mean for it to happen, but his eyes widen anyway. He knows he has an issue of being too easy to read, and it’s not helping him in the slightest given that Zayn’s playing tug of war with him. “I’m not looking for more than a simple walk every once in awhile.”

“Is that it?” Zayn quickly speaks, shoulders dropping and face distorting to even features. “Because the last conversation I remember us having had been you trying to talk me down. It may not have been a direct threat, but let me tell you, Liam,” Zayn’s eyes narrow quickly, “I don’t appreciate people stepping over their boundaries. You being here is a promise on my part, but let’s not forget who’s actually going out of their way to keep your ass safe.” He shuffles forward a step or two, and even when Liam tries to back away, Zayn’s hand reaches out for the lapel of his jacket. “It’s just a precaution. I’ve been keeping up with your payments, but if you’re going to act like a little bitch and threaten my authority, then you might as well man up and take responsibility for what’s yours.” The hand on Liam’s clothing tightens, pulls him forward so that Zayn’s near his face and glaring at him with two hazel eyes. “So whether you like it or not, we will stay out here for however long it takes until you learn to point a gun at the goddamn target,” he points down the field at this point, “and hit it precisely as if it were a real person you need to defend yourself against.”

Liam bites at his lower lip, breath uneven and vision going a little cross-eyed as he blinks back at Zayn and his tone. He could argue, bite back with callousness but it’d be pointless considering that Zayn’s rather adamant on Liam following through with this. Also there’s a part where he thinks he could call on Harry to get him out of this predicament, but then again, Harry had been the one who had brought him here. It’s very unlikely that Harry’s going to go against Zayn when they’re only a few feet apart.

“Okay,” he relents. He lets the tension out of his shoulders go, lowers his eyes and waits for Zayn to back away from him.

When Zayn does, and Liam glances up, he notices that Zayn looks slightly startled at Liam’s readiness. It’s quickly masked once he realizes that Liam’s eyeing him, but he nods, sets his face in determination before motioning Liam closer. “Have you ever held one?” he asks.

Zayn carefully hands him the weapon, and Liam takes it awkwardly. He keeps it pointed at the ground, not knowing anything about gun safety, realizing he’s putting all of his trust in to Zayn right now.

Liam only answers by shaking his head, feeling the weight of the object in his hand. Zayn moves to stand next to Liam, nearly bumping his shoulder and turning him in the direction of the target. “Lift it up, hold it with both hands and point it straight.”

“Are you sure it’s okay for me to be doing this?” Liam hesitates. He feels stupid, especially since he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing, but Zayn’s standing right beside him, a warm body close to his being. It’s a bit relaxing for all the wrong reasons, but it makes him less nervous. “I mean, I’d much prefer using any other weapon of choice than this.” His hands feel sweaty all of a sudden while his chest is thick with distress. He may have agreed to do this, but that doesn’t mean that he was wholeheartedly okay with it. “Zayn,” Liam whimpers. He’s not above it either, especially as he feels Zayn leave his side, but then the shadow of another person is there again, placing something on Liam’s head to cover his ears.

“Don’t want to hurt your ears, darling,” Zayn says. He makes sure the protection on Liam’s ears and in place before moving one of the covers out of the way so that he can speak to Liam without it distorting his voice. “Take off the safety and shoot.”

Liam definitely hears Zayn’s voice; that’s a given, but Liam has no fucking clue what he’s talking about until Zayn huffs and points at the gun. “This piece here.”

They both eye it, Liam going to press it. There’s a small _click_ , but the gun doesn’t feel any different than before. “Breathe, Liam,” Zayn says. His hand moves to the earmuff, placing it over Liam’s ear completely before there is a hand around his waist, fingers squeezing into his side. Liam figures it’s supposed to be reassuring, but it’s nothing but as his finger finds the trigger and pulls.

The first round is released, a single bullet that has Liam feeling the pull of the gun as it fires. He’s too wide eyed and shocked, back pressed against Zayn’s arm as he holds Liam still because of the minor recoil. Liam allows himself a tick to breathe before pulling on the safety again and lowering the gun, nudging the protection off his ear and turning to Zayn. “That was terrible.”

Zayn laughs something fierce, a deep noise that has him grinning. “Weren’t expecting it?”

“Could’ve warned me,” Liam mutters.

Zayn reaches down for the weapon and takes it from Liam. “We’re not done yet, but if this anything to go by, you’ll be brilliant.”

“S’not something anyone should be brilliant at.”

The purse of Zayn’s lips are pink, and the stubble against his jawline seems a lot darker regardless of them standing in the sunlight, but Liam can make out the thrill that resides under his skin. The sheer fact that Zayn’s teaching someone on how to use a semi-automatic must bring him a newfound joy he’d been missing amidst all of the destruction. It seems like such a simple thing, weird even, if Liam’s honest, but this lesson isn’t just a lesson as much as it is a right of passage, or at the very least Zayn’s way of showing Liam that if he just _listens_ , then there are always benefits.

What those are, well, Liam’s experiencing one of them now: being outside at the cost of reaching down deep for the little boy who’d always played cops and robbers, who always wished to be a cowboy and save the day.

“Next time,” Zayn breaks the silence, “try aiming at the target rather than somewhere off in the distance. A gun holds power, but _you’re_ ultimately the one in control.” He lifts the gun then, fingers curling around the piece as he flicks off the safety and rests his finger on the trigger.

Liam has just enough time to move his muffs back into place before Zayn’s letting out another round. He watches the way Zayn stands bold, eyes forward, never searching for anything other than his intended aim. Liam can’t see the bullet as it flies away from them at an incredible speed, but he does see the paper hanging off of a haystack nearly fold in on itself as the bullet goes straight through the outline’s heart.

He can do nothing but stare impassively because while this is more than impressive (nevermind the fact that millions of people have perfect aim when it comes to this stuff), it only brings Liam back to Zayn’s words, and the idea that he should be scared, terrified of his predicament. However, if this is Zayn’s way of showing it, he doesn’t think it’s doing much good given that Zayn himself is behind the weapon, deadly, sharp and precise. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and Liam thinks this should be the defining moment that he’s truly shaken at the thought of Zayn and what he’s capable of, what he’s done in his past to get him here and the true person the lies underneath his brief temperaments with Liam.

The thing is, Liam finds that he’s okay right now. Maybe it’s shock, and it will only sink into his system later when he’s in bed and trying to fall asleep, but as Liam stares at the way that Zayn pulls the gun down, aiming it at the ground, watching as Harry’s shadow happens upon them before taking the gun for himself and shooting it, he gets the feeling that this isn’t just Zayn’s way of proving a point, but literally showing him how easy it is to become death. It’s simple, really, that one flick of a thought process can put anyone in the line of danger, and this isn’t pulling Liam away from the idea of gun safety, rather it’s bringing him back to the very minute before he’d been shot himself.

He tries to view it from the point of view of the person who shot him, how little effort it took to bring a gun forward and aim it directly. It’d only been a warning, at least that’s what Liam’s been led to believe, but cognizance that hits Liam almost has him crumpling under the weight of reality. “I’m gonna die, aren’t I?” he asks suddenly. His voice is a little louder than normal given the muffs over his ears, but he notices Harry lower the gun, and Zayn slip off his own muffs too. “Was this the point you wanted to make then, Zayn?” he chokes over his own words, frown set upon his lips. “Because you did, okay. I don’t need to do this,” Liam shakes his head, “I don’t need to feel what it’s like to be on the other end of it; I don’t.”

Harry, tries to take a step forward despite the weapon lowered in his hands, but Zayn reaches out back behind him and stops him. He stares at Liam, not with pity but with patience and resolve. “I’m trying to make you understand the world we live in, Liam. This isn’t just about me confirming truth that you already know deep down,” his head tilts slightly, “but helping make a point crystal clear. When I said we couldn’t do things without careful planning, I meant it. What you want, you can have if you so wish, but rather looking at me with disdain and hate because I play supervisor to your rebellion, take into consideration everything.” Zayn licks his lips, thumb rubbing over his fingertips by his side. “ _Everything_ , Liam. Your surroundings, the probability of something happening. Weigh your options before you make them hastily.”

Liam licks at the front of his teeth before looking down. His eyes burn with unshed tears, and he feels more than unsettled.

“Hey,” Zayn says softly. He moves forward although Liam doesn’t take notice until Zayn’s shoes are in his line of vision. A finger finds its way under his chin where it prods him to raise his head up despite the fact that he doesn’t want to. “Nothing’s going to happen to you,” he promises, “not if I can help it.”

Liam doesn’t know where to look, but Zayn’s vision is directly on him; he can feel it on his face because the heat of them helps his cheek fill with color at being treated like something small. “I-”

“I know, Liam,” Zayn says, cutting him off. “This isn’t anything I would bring someone like you into. You’re too good for that,” he admits, “way too good.” He huffs a laugh, turning his head in the direction of the targets while his hand finally drops away from Liam.

Liam, on the other hand, thinks this is the most vulnerable he’s seen Zayn. It doesn’t make sense, and Liam’s having so much difficulty trying to pinpoint what he thinks of Zayn altogether, but every time Liam tries, Zayn pulls the rug out from underneath his feet, leaving Liam in a daze and back at square one.

“I suppose it’s nice you think so highly of me then.”

An eyebrow rises at his remark, where Zayn turns back towards Liam. “And let’s hope you don’t think the same about me.” He leaves it at that, deserting Liam for the next couple of seconds as he waves at Harry to hand over the gun. “Now, you ready?”

Zayn hands over the weapon for Liam to take, and although he thinks about declining, he doesn’t, fingers accidentally brushing against Zayn’s as Liam takes hold of the object. “As I’ll ever be, I guess.” Silently, he gets into position again. He thinks back briefly to how Zayn stood with confidence because he knew what he was doing. So Liam squares his shoulders and straightens his posture. “This okay?” he calls out, but there is no reply. Instead Liam’s met with complete silence until he feels hands on him again. They settle on his waist before lifting up and angling Liam’s arms a little higher.

“Relax,” Zayn says lowly. “Don’t think too much about it either. Just aim, set your eyes on exactly where you want the bullet to land and be confident in where it’s going.”

Liam licks his lips, wetting them and feeling a little off balance with Zayn so close to him. He can nearly hear Harry’s smirk from a few feet away, but now’s not the time to find the curly-haired bastard so he can flip him off. “Any specific point?”

There’s the sound of a air being sucked in before Zayn’s replying. “The head and the heart are quick shots. If you hit anywhere on the chest, you could hit a vital organ, and the victim will bleed out. Shoulders and legs are typically just areas that are meant to create wounds that will stop people from running away.”

“You mean like what happened to me?” Liam asks.

Another quick breath is drawn in, and Liam wants to ask if Zayn is the one okay in all of this. But then one of Zayn’s hands is on his waist, placed carefully and curled into the fabric. “I’m pretty positive you were a warning, and nothing more,” he answers. “However, don’t take for granted that fact that if they’d hit a little higher, they certainly would’ve been okay with that too.”

“What?!” Liam nearly shouts, eyes wide with a terrible feeling in his stomach. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just as I said,” Zayn snaps. He re-adjusts Liam’s arms, holding them still before speaking again. “Now, Liam, you’re going to shoot, and I want you to hit the target, yeah? Think about where and why, with precision and confidence.”

And just as he finishes speaking, Liam feels the earmuffs cover his ears again before he flicks off the safety, aiming directly at the mark. He breathes out slowly, counting down to one in his head before his finger finds the trigger, and he releases. His surroundings are no more, and he feels like he’s in one of those action movies where the bullet slows down and everything comes rushing back after a couple of seconds.

This time, Liam’s prepared and holds his ground as the round is released. There’s not much of a recoil, figuring that the first time it happened was because he hadn’t ever shot a gun before; his stance stays the same, no falling back or leaning either. And within those couple of seconds, he waits patiently, holds on to the air in his lungs as the bullet eventually hits the target.

He grins.

Liam’s second time shooting ends up in the paper having gaping hole near the hip. He’d been aiming for the stomach considering it’s a much bigger target than the size of the head on the poster, but he feels excitement swell up in his chest at the fact that he would’ve done an extensive amount of damage if he were in a different situation.

“I hit it,” he says. He makes sure to pull back the safety, lowering the gun to the ground before pulling off the protection on his ears. Liam can only imagine how he looks, but he’s happy with himself despite the fact that maybe he shouldn’t be with how he’s now capable of shooting something to literal death. “I fucking hit it,” he repeats. He laughs, and when he finds Harry looking over at him with thumbs up and a grin, he turns to Zayn and finds that he looks impressed.

“There’s a few more rounds in the magazine,” he explains with a nod. “Shoot ‘em off, and then we’ll practice loading and unloading it. Cleaning it too, that’s important.” Those hazel eyes flicker to the target again. He looks like he’s thinking about something momentarily before he pulls back and adds, “And you better get used to it, Liam. It’s yours.”

Liam looks down at the item in his hand, the solid black and silver metal that looks out of place but feels lethal and dangerous. He’s not overly terrified of it now; there’s a thrill that rests just underneath his veins. For the time being, that doesn’t worry him, not when he’s grinning up at Zayn before turning back around to fire off the last couple of rounds he has left.

+

“Feel better?” Harry asks as soon as Liam sits down in one of the chairs. Zayn had given him a break nearly five minutes ago to talk some business with the two other men out on the field.

Liam ignores the humorous tone in Harry’s voice in favor of grinning. “Of course.”

Harry rolls his eyes and slouches further in his seat. The weather hasn’t cooled down much, and the only form of shade they have is a little wooden awning, but for Liam it feels nothing but good.

“Just keep in mind that this is fun and that when you’re in a position to actually shoot, it’s going to be an entirely different story.”

“Harry, I know that,” Liam responds quickly. He’s having a decent time, yes. But he’s also very aware of the reason as to why they’re even doing this in the first place. “You don’t think I’ll have to use it though, right?”

It seems like Harry hesitates for a moment before he turns his head in Liam’s direction. He squints a bit because of the sun, and the look on his face isn’t very reassuring. “I can’t give you an answer to that, especially if Zayn’s fixed on giving you what you want. Although I must say he’s disguising it by narrow threats that I’m pretty sure you’re not even scared of.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Isn’t it obvious, Liam?” Harry sits up quickly, resting his elbows on his knees. “He doesn’t put up with bullshit, mind you. Yet, he’s allowing you to walk all over him. He’s also trying to keep his dignity intact by making it seem like all of this was his idea.”

“But it is,” Liam interjects.

“Granted, _some_ of it is, but you started it all,” Harry insists. “The thing is, I can’t figure out _why_. What makes him able to tolerate you and your stubbornness?” The bloke shakes his head, curls moving along with it.

Liam bites his lip and answers, “I think he knows I won’t let him.”

Harry’s attention is pulled back to Liam, eyebrows rising. “This could be dangerous.”

“Yeah?” Liam looks studious. “Tell me about it.”

“I just need you to be careful,” Harry urges. “History doesn’t need to repeat itself.”

Liam groans, allowing himself to fall backwards into the chair so that he’s resting up against it. “Now what the fuck are you on about? I hate it when you spring shit on me like this.”

“You were burning for answers just the other day,” Harry says.

Liam tsks, “Yeah, and you wouldn’t give them, and neither would Zayn, for what it’s worth. But it’s only _now_ that you wanna inform me of things?”

“Hey now,” Harry says firmly, “that was before we ended up _here_ , yeah? Zayn’s being kind, but if you really knew what goes on here, you’d probably be a lot different with your mood.”

“Harry, riddles, okay? I can’t read minds and talking like Zayn does doesn’t help shit,” Liam bites back. His mood is definitely beginning to sour because he’d expected the other lad to take his side on things, be a little help right now, but instead he’s willing to nitpick at Liam. Either he should be happy or upset, and Liam’s torn between the two emotions.

But then Harry’s turning in his seat, looking blankly at Liam. “There’s a reason I had you wear the jacket. We typically don’t leave without them on so people know who we are, but I did it to get back at Zayn.”

Liam sits up then, interested in what Harry has to say. His palms feel slick again, nervousness taking over at the tone. “What are you on about?”

“You push Zayn to his limits, and that’s fine by me. It’s about time he realize that he’s not immortal, but I needed him to see it too.” Harry nods at the jacket. “It was Louis’.”

Liam looks down at the leather before up at Harry. “And who’s that?”

“He was a lot like you actually, except he was a bit more wild in his ways. Was Zayn’s right hand man before I stepped in.”

The look Harry gives Liam next makes his heart drop. It’s a cross between reluctant and something close to sadness, but it’s not quite there yet. “I take it that the key word here is ‘ _was_ ’?”

Harry shakes his head softly before he quickly looks over his shoulder. He thinks it might be Harry keeping a lookout so Zayn won't hear them, but when he regains his focus onto Liam, he knows that that isn’t the case. It’s like Harry feels terrible for Zayn personally, and that makes Liam feel bad because whatever it is Harry's about to tell them, links to a past between the two. “Listen; there’s different aspects to a gang. Not only is it the formation of its members and the one who will lead, but in order to gain ground and have a name, you have to run businesses. Most of them are illegal, but that’s how we make money, right?” Harry waits for Liam to nod to make sure he’s taking this in and paying close attention. “Well, there’s another side of it. Typically there are territorial wars where different gangs tag buildings as theirs. It’s how we have the hideout, but sometimes it gets ugly. Shootouts and all of that stuff.”

When Harry pauses, his eyes looked glazed over, and Liam has half a mind to reach out and take his hand. He doesn’t though. Instead he says, “You don’t have to tell me.”

But Harry waves him off. “Zayn’s waiting for the opportune time to tell you how this works, Liam, and knowing him it’ll take him all day to do it because he still finds fault with himself for what happened. No one blames him, but me bringing you here while wearing the jacket,” he sighs heavily, running a hand over his face, “I meant to prove a point. We were in the middle of negotiating a piece of land Zayn wanted. No idea why, but it didn’t really matter because everyone had his back. Although things went south. It’s all a blur now, but Louis ended up shot and couldn’t be saved. This land,” Harry’s hand sweeps out around him with Liam’s gaze following, “was what he died for, and Zayn wanted revenge. The field is stained with the blood of our enemies.”

Liam’s throat is thick, and the only thing he’s able to reply with is, “That sounds a bit dramatic.”

Harry frowns. “He’ll ask you to stay tonight, just before it gets dark.”

There’s an ominous tone in Harry’s words, and judging by the way that he looks unfazed, it shows Liam that what Harry meant by blood, literally means blood and something quite sadistic. “For what reason?” he asks quickly, eyeing Zayn from behind Harry’s figure.

“They know who shot you.”

Liam pales, mouth going dry while his vision fades just the slightest. He zeros in on the ground, it looking more appealing than any other views available. “I didn’t know they were looking.”

“Zayn made a promise, didn’t he?” Harry asks.

He looks up immediately, face set sternly into position. “He assured protection and nothing more than that. Look, I may be naive here, and what you’re telling me is a bit much to handle, suggesting that they bring people out here for god knows what reason,” Liam shifts in his seat, knowing that if he stands up he’ll end up pacing and drawing attention to himself that he does not want at the moment, “but I can’t allow that, Harry. Especially not on my behalf. I’ll go and do what Zayn wants me to. I’ll sell whatever kind of drug put into my hand if that’s the case, but I won’t sit here and face someone who purposefully shot me. I won’t do it,” Liam shakes his head and breathes in deep.

“I know,” Harry says slowly. “I know you won’t, which is why I needed Zayn to remember.” He snaps his fingers at Liam then, trying to get him to pay attention now that he’s looking at the ground, hands curled around the armrests of the chair he’s still sitting in. “Your retribution is different than his and with how everything turned out the last time, it _can’t_ repeat itself. Zayn had a full out war going on because he sought out those who killed Louis, and if he does the same for you, if he spills more blood right now, that just means he’s putting you in danger.”

“Then what do I do? This is what he meant about making me scared, isn’t it? He’s going to show me abuse just to prove a point.” Liam’s genuinely worried. He shouldn’t have doubted Zayn’s word, figuring that the gun was going to be his biggest payback, but if Zayn planned on having Liam face the person who gunned him down, well, Liam wants nothing to do with that. If what Harry is saying is anything to go by, Zayn’s not going to be kind.

Harry makes a startled sound, realizing Liam’s just revealed a part of the conversation that both Zayn and he had the last time. He looks pale, lips pink from worrying at them with his teeth. “Liam,” Harry says strictly. “Look at me.” He moves to grab Liam’s arm, squeezing tightly so that he’s paying attention still. “I know I’ve told you to watch out, to keep your mouth in check, but what you’re doing has kept Zayn in line, and I _need_ that to continue happening.”

Liam only blinks. “You want me to _what_? Play babysitter for him, tell him what he’s doing is wrong and try to _fix_ it?” He sounds hysterical, and it doesn’t fit Liam whatsoever, but Harry’s laying this on him as thick as he can get, and Liam’s not sure he wants to hear anymore.

“Yes,” Harry replies. “You push him to his limits and for once, he actually listens. The setup we have here is just fine. We’re helping you pay off your debt; we’re in a good standing with other gangs around aside from the Blue Bloods. But this,” Harry warns, “could do us in. We need balance, yeah? Just tell him to knock it off, and we’ll leave immediately.”

Liam thinks, closes his eyes and furrows his brow and tries to come up with a good enough reason to do as Harry has asked. Of course, everything he’s listed out is enough evidence to follow through, but it’s the fact that Harry’s is _urging_ Liam to do something that Harry should be able to do himself. After all, isn’t Harry Zayn’s most trusted member? Isn’t he the one who’s supposed to be a guiding hand in helping with Zayn’s decisions? Liam’s positive that Zayn had mentioned something about taking each of their steps into consideration, so what makes this one so different than the rest? Why wouldn’t Zayn himself take precautions, throw it all to the wind and screw over the one thing they all have going for them?

He knows what he has to do. Liam just doesn’t know if it’s going to work out well or not, doesn’t know for sure if Zayn’s going to actually listen to him the way that Harry is suggesting, but it’s worth a try. Liam, again, may not be used to this, but if there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s being the reason for other’s actions. “If I do this, how do I know he’s not going to go through with it? How much of his word can I trust?”

Harry eyes Liam, reaching forward and pulling Liam closer to speak to him directly. “You can’t. Not all the time, but Zayn’s not dumb enough to completely dismiss logic. It’ll make him think twice, and it’ll get him angry that you, of all people, upstaged him.” Harry smirks then, letting Liam go. “It’s what he needs, and you’re just the person to do it.”

“Why do I get the feeling that you’re the brains behind this whole operation, and that you’d rather take pleasure out of prodding at your friend?”

The other lad glances behind him once more before shrugging. “I’m not nor will I ever have the brains or the guts to do what Zayn has done, but I’m not willing to lose someone else I’m quite fond of over his fucking stupid need for requital. He’s not just trying to show everyone who’s boss, Liam. He’s trying to show _you_ that he has it all under control.”

Brown eyes set on Harry’s face, drinking in his expression and feeling as if they’re plotting something way sinister against Zayn than what they really are.

“So you’re saying he’s doing this for my own good?” Liam asks.

But Harry doesn’t nod, just smiles wide, teeth and all. “That, and the fact that he’s trying to impress you.”

Liam’s face drops, floored at Harry’s revelation. There’s no need for Zayn to want to try and sway Liam. He’s already dealing with that conflict on his own, but just the fact that Harry stands up and leaves Liam by himself only shows that what Harry says, he means. Harry obviously has nothing else to say, and Liam feels almost like he did the first time he’d met Zayn, more than startled and just a little worried.

So he sighs, decides not to think about anything else for the moment. It’s best to deal with one thing at a time, and right now, that’s Zayn.

Liam stands up from his chair, kicks at the ground and waits for the opportune moment to talk to Zayn. And when that time arrives, another fifteen minutes later, Liam catches up with him, walks over to Zayn with what he hopes is ease. Harry is off to Liam’s left, out of the corner of his eye as silent support, but other than that, he’s on his own as Zayn eyes him questioningly.

“You’ve got nerve,” Liam admits.

Zayn almost takes it as a compliment, but he notices the way that Liam’s mouth is slowly turning downwards. “I’m sorry?”

“As you should be,” he expresses. “If you were wanting to prove a point, you’ve done it, but _don’t you fucking dare_ drag me into your mess, Zayn. Harry told me what you’re planning, and you know what? I’m glad he did,” Liam admits. His hands curl into a fist, and he has half a mind to reach forward and clutch the front of Zayn’s shirt out of anger because he won’t allow himself to be violent, but he thinks better of it, knowing full well that his eyes tell the cruelest of principles. “Next time you want to include me on one of your little missions, you better make damn well sure I’m aware of it. I’ll take the gun, and I’ll run, if that’s what you want,” he pauses briefly, gathering his words as best as he can so that he can further make his point.

But then Zayn tries to slip into the conversation with, “Liam...,” although the other lad doesn’t allow Zayn to take it. He just shakes his head and downright glares. “Don’t,” Liam interrupts harshly, cutting Zayn off. He shrugs off his the jacket and pushes it into Zayn’s chest. As soon as he does, Liam watches as the other lad lowers his vision, sights set on the article of clothing while his jaw clenches at his past. “Because if you do, then I’m walking out regardless of the price on my head. And I’ll die knowing that you’ll be living with that guilt. That’ll bring me enough peace.” Liam shoves Zayn once more, letting go of the article of clothing completely before turning around and storming off. He doesn’t know if Harry is on his tail or if Zayn’s even following him either, but he doesn’t care, just needs to get away from here. He heads up the hill where he finds the car that both he and Harry arrived in sitting idle.

It’s then that he pauses, hearing voices back behind him, but Liam doesn’t bother. It’s loud voices and angry tones, and he knows that Harry might be in a world of trouble, but Liam’s seething with rage as he continues to the car. He climbs in, pays no attention to the men in the front seat as he sits there and waits to leave. It takes a grand total of five minutes before he notices that Harry’s walking towards the car. There’s blood on his lips, and Liam flinches, realizing he probably shouldn’t have left Harry behind in his fit of anger, but what’s done is done, and as Harry gets into the car, shouting at the driver for them to leave, he only turns to Liam and nods once, confirming that Liam has a lot more power over Zayn than he should.

+

The only indication that Liam's hard work is paying off is through Harry. His debt is slowly dwindling given that the other lad has informed him that business has been good lately, but it's not enough to write home about just yet. No one else bothers him with it either though, Harry always claiming that it's no one else’s job but his own, and on the off chance that Zayn might want to keep Liam updated himself, is shot to hell given he's been extremely busy lately. Although with that news, Liam's positive it's an excuse for Zayn to avoid him; it's definitely a partial truth; after all, it can't be easy running an illegal business under the guise of good pretenses, but then again, he does believe that Zayn's distanced himself because of Liam's immediate threat the last time they were in the same proximity.

And to be honest, Liam thinks he should be guilty for what he'd gone and done. It was a nice day for what it was worth, but Liam typically has a guilty conscious whenever he loses his cool in places it isn't called for. However, this time around he doesn't feel the guilt edge itself into his bones, nor does he feel remotely calm about it either. Obviously Zayn's not only been ignoring him, but Harry won't discuss it with him any further - not even to give him information on what happened to his apparent shooter. The rest of the gang treats him just as they always have.

He still serves them drinks, cleans the place too, only his Saturday nights have taken a turn (for the worse, he doesn't know yet; there's a distinct thrill he gets when he has to leave with the boys) into more frivolous activities given that he now owns a gun and is expected to run with the other members of the Forty Thieves. It's not all bad, and just the fact that Liam's even believing that gives him enough to worry about, but he does as he's instructed. He's given a decent amount of various drugs, hidden very well on his being, told to stand in an alley or a shady corner and wait for the addicts to come out to place. From there he's supposed to watch out for any blue and red lights, make sure the money is in his hand before he lets go of any dope while also simultaneously making sure to sell his entire part before the night's up.

It's quite a bit to handle, especially that first night because he'd been nervous and shaky, looking completely sketchy instead of the cool demeanor he's learned to mask. Harry had been with him the first night, just to make sure things with smoothly, but after that, Harry's the first to shove him into a car with a group of gang members and told to make it back alive.

Liam thinks it's all quite dumb, sending him out like this. They won't let him out during the day, yet they think he's safe under the stars, but whatever makes them happy, Liam's going to do it because, well, he has to, doesn't he? Sure, he's thought about taking off, looked down the end of the street and thought about walking away, but something pulls him back when he shifts, feels the gun resting against his back, tucked into his jeans carefully. It's a reminder that the blunt metal object could restrain him, kill him even.

So he stays put, does as he's told and feels as if he's on a leash. It's suffocating, and it's not the way he'd planned on living his life, but he's learned to let loose and completely blame Niall on this one because it's the fuckers fault, isn't it? Liam shouldn't have to take the fall for this, and he'd like to believe he's an okay guy, but even he has his downfalls, and this is one of them for sure. Niall is a twat who left him, and Liam has every goddamn right to be angry.

Liam's currently the only one in the den right now. He’s busy wiping down the counter before heading off to bed. The room is dim, the neon sign behind him illuminating a good chunk of the room while a lamp that had been turned on sits by the tv, a yellow light emitting from underneath its shade. His body aches from standing; he’d like nothing more than to go lay down, maybe half himself a shower before falling asleep, but the movements he makes - circular motions - with his hands to rub the counter clean settles him into a daze, somewhere where his vision blurs and pictures a place far away from here, a nice beach, or maybe even his own bedroom back home.

It doesn’t last long though; he’s startled by a shout coming from the third door, now dubbed as Zayn’s office. Either he’d totally forgotten that someone was in there, or they’d snuck in without him knowing considering Liam hasn’t been paying too much attention. He’s learned to ignore the commotion that’s caused by roughhousing, various shouts of those who play unfairly and multiple threats that are actually more bark than bite.

So before Liam has time to turn back to his cleaning duties - he’d really like to finish and head off to bed - the door slams open, revealing a fuming.

“Harry-”

“Fuck _off_ ,” he growls, not turning back to whomever he’s talking to. He stalks through the den and a quick pace until there’s shuffling and what sounds like a million and one things crashing to the floor.

Liam almost ducks behind the bar, afraid something’s been thrown, but he just looks at Harry instead who hasn’t bothered to move. His shoulders are slumped, lower lip caught between his teeth, and it’s less than a second later that he’s staring at Liam, chin raised and eyes unsure. Liam not only wants to ask him what the hell is going on, but this time the sound of glass smashing rattles through the room. It’s loud, to the point where Harry snaps out of his gaze, drawing his attention away from Liam and his silent debate on speaking. “ _Fuck you_ , Malik. You’re an insolent prat when you’re angry, and I’m not dealing with this until you _calm the fuck down_.” Harry doesn’t waste a second walking away after that. He heads for the exit, the door swinging shut behind him as soon as he’s left.

Which, honestly, all of this leaves Liam in the middle of things. Either he could pretend like he’s not here, make a makeshift bed on the couch, hurry past the room Zayn’s in and hopes that he’s not called upon, or he can very hesitantly make his way to said room to see what all the fuss is about. So many warning signs are going off in his head because if Harry, of all people, had been that pissed, then Liam should leave it alone. But then again there’d been the sound of things breaking, and Liam knows that he’s going to be the one to clean it up, so now might as well be a good time as any to be nosy and clean up.

Screw it all to hell; Liam’s sure he won’t be getting any sleep for at least another couple of hours.

He sets down his rag, the one he’d been clutching in his fist this entire time, hanging onto it for dear life. He quietly walks forward to the room, breathes in as calmly as he can because of his racing heart. The light gets brighter as he approaches; there’s still plenty of opportunities for Liam to back out and mind his own business, but then he hears the sound of heavy breathing, or _something_ coming from the room that has him furrowing his thick brows in worry.

Liam steps up to the threshold of the door, looking in with concern and what he finds makes him want to reconsider everything negative he’s thought about Zayn. He’s currently hunched over in his chair, hands covering his face, and Liam swears he might just be crying, but he’s not certain. It’s a really far stretch for that to happen, especially given the demeanor that Zayn’s tried to have around him at least (he doesn’t know what Zayn’s like when Liam’s not around, of course).

He takes a tentative step forward and several more after that so that maybe he can sit down in the chair opposite the desk, just as he’d been the last time, but then his foot comes in contact with something on the ground, where it crunches from underneath his weight. He flinches, and Zayn’s head snaps up to stare at him.

“What are you doing?” he says lowly.

So he’s not crying, but the shine in his eyes gives away more than Liam ever thought he’d see. It’s a different expression, and while he figured Zayn would probably turn his wrath upon Liam, it doesn’t happen. The other male slouches in his seat, and Liam takes that as his cue to sit down. There’s a bunch of glass on the floor the more he examines it, a bunch of trinkets and papers. The desk is also void of anything, and Liam gets what happened now. He must’ve gotten in a rage and shoved everything off.

“Came to see if you were okay.” He licks his lips but doesn’t focus his vision on Zayn, can’t find it in himself to do so.

“Considering the mess and the way Harry stormed off,” Zayn bites, “I think it’s safe to assume I’m not, and either way, it’s none of your business.”

Liam clenches his jaw, shoulders squaring. “You just destroyed half the room, and we both know who gets to clean it up. I expect-”

Zayn cocks an eyebrow, leaning forward and slamming a hand on the table. He then lifts it up, finger pointed in Liam’s direction. “You should expect _nothing_ ,” he steadies his voice, tongue licking over his teeth as he draws out the words so it’s crystal clear. His hand is lowered soon after, where Zayn shifts in his chair. It’s obvious that he’s still seething, elbow resting on the armrest as he tries to look every bit as dominant as he can.

But Liam’s not buying it. At least right now he isn’t because whatever is going on, whatever has been building up has made Zayn lose his cool, and it’s fine if he doesn’t want to admit what it is. He’s right with the fact that Liam shouldn’t expect any sort of information, so he gives up for now, decides to get a head start on cleaning regardless of whether Zayn is in the room.

He stands, grabbing the small wastebasket that sits near the door. It won’t be big enough to put everything in, but it’ll do for now. He’ll probably have to throw away everything, nothing in his view looking like it could be salvage save for the papers scattered across the floor. Liam bends down, starts picking stuff up and throwing it away, careful of the glass on the floor. He’ll have to sweep it up and vacuum the rest.

“You shouldn’t do that now,” Liam hears, “there’s too much glass, and you’ll cut yourself.” He looks up to find Zayn leaning over the desk, looking down at Liam. It’s not that it startles him, but Zayn looks, well, like a kid, mischievous and playful with the grin set upon his face. It has Liam narrowing his eyes and wondering what the hell the other lad is playing at, especially if his mood has done a one-eighty.

“If I don’t start now,” Liam says, “it’ll take more time tomorrow.”

“And you heard what I said, so _listen_.”

Liam abruptly stands up with Zayn sliding back into his chair with ease. He looks much more relaxing, but he’s actually just pissing Liam off. He folds his arms over his chest and decides to look at him with angry, not quite sure what the hell is going to happen from here on out.

Zayn sniffs once before he sweeps a hand out in front of him. Liam thinks it’s for him, a gesture to sit down again, but he ignores it. The other lad just shrugs. “You know, Liam, I hate it when people are stupid.” He cocks his head to the side. “Absolutely dreadful,” he enunciated each word, pointed look masking anything other emotion he might be feeling, “and what’s even worse is when people fuck up. All I ask from my men is to follow instructions, and yet,” he pauses, air around him shifting into one of mock disbelief, “it still happens. They don’t hear what I’m saying, or they make excuses like the plan that we’ve had set up for months hasn’t gone accordingly. Do you know how frustrating that is?” He doesn’t wait for Liam to answer. “It’s awful, especially when I find that one of men is so incredibly idiotic, enough so that a good part of my inventory,” he points to himself, “my investment is taken from me.”

The only thing to do here is wait. Liam could be inquisitive and ask what the hell he’s talking about. In fact, that’s probably what Zayn’s opening seeing as he’s all over the place, but Liam’s in a bind, and it’s best to just play along.

“I had about twenty-five grand worth of stuff stolen from me because some fuckwad,” and Zayn laughs although it’s more like a snicker of uncertainty, “wasn’t paying attention. And do you know what I have to do now?”

Liam shakes his head, feeling something swirl in his stomach. He thinks it might be dread.

“Yeah, well, instead of letting it go, I _have_ to do something about it. Most likely I won’t get the product back, so I’ll send some people out, acquire enough information about who took it, but then I also have to make sure that everyone else knows it’s not acceptable.” He pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “I’m not looking forward to it; it’s the worst part of the job description, and I try so incredibly hard to run things smoothly.”

Liam opens his mouth to say something, but he doesn’t know what. Especially considering this is out of his element. It still doesn’t explain the temper - kind of, but not really - and nor does it give an excuse as to why he’d apparently gotten into an argument with Harry, but Liam’s trying to see the light here. “I’m sorry?”

The man before him slowly stands up; he doesn’t move from behind the desk, but Zayn offers him a half-assed smirk. “I’m terribly sorry you had to witness this. Typically I like to be in control of all situations, and when things get out of hand,” the grin disappears, replaced with a frown on those thin lips, “well.”

He tilts his head, shrugs a bit and looks around the room, and part of Liam doesn’t understand, just doesn’t get what Zayn is going for here. It’s not to make an impression; Zayn’s already done that for himself. Is it to show another side into his world? He trips Liam up completely because just as he thinks he’s got Zayn locked down as something, he goes and flips the coin in a new direction. It’s like he’s playing games with Liam on purpose now. Anytime he tries to be nice, tries to fit into this little establishment, it’s like Zayn doesn’t want him settled here, like he’s trying to keep him on his toes - and it’s not out of fun either! It’s more than that, and Liam’s head begins to hurt as the internal gears within move slowly to process a good way to change the game.

It’s always best to be ahead, especially if it involves Zayn. And somewhere deep within Liam, he knows Harry would be smiling at the idea. So he starts with, “being upset isn’t a sign of weakness, nor is it defeat,” Liam explains. “More than anything it’s an emotional attachment involving moral character in which we develop as we grow up. It’s not like I agree with drugs, but stealing is stealing, and lord have mercy,” he sighs. “Just me saying that is all sorts of twisted.”

“Philosopher,” Zayn nods, “Yet you’re forgetting the fact that ideas continuously change upon circumstance, including when the exposure to such substance or situations means more tolerance as a whole, affecting moral contemplation about life in general and what is really right and wrong. The same stances we have when we were ten doesn’t automatically pan to when we’re thirty because life fucks us over on more than one occasion, and I think I’m going to blow his brains out.”

Liam coughs at the unexpected switch in focus. “How about we _not_ do that? Did you bother to ask what happened, maybe?” He shrugs. “There’s a good chance it wasn’t entirely his fault. It’s not like the streets out here are all that safe, and plenty of scenarios could’ve played out for this to happen. Also,” Liam adds, “the fact that you think each of your gang members are okay all on their own is a big point of issue - or whether you knew this or not, I don’t know - but even having a weapon on hand doesn’t necessarily mean everyone is going to be at their sharpest of abilities, and given what you’re describing, it’s still possible that he could’ve been jumped.” He knows this from experience - slight experience though; he hadn’t had a weapon on him when he’d decided to pay those men what was left in his bank account, but it’d been quite easy to be thrown to the ground regardless.

There’s a startled noise that comes from Zayn, but he only blinks as if he’s thinking it all over.

“I feel like Jiminy cricket,” Liam expresses. “You’re so immersed in violence, it sounds to me like you’re beginning to lose your way.”

Zayn snorts. “I’ve played this game long enough. I know how it goes.”

But it’s Liam’s turn to smile, doing so with a grin on his face that matches Zayn’s in haughtiness. “And you said it yourself, wiseass,” his lips stretch wider, showing teeth, “what we knew when we were ten is now difference as we get older. How long have you been in this business, Zayn?” This time, he doesn’t wait for an answer. “I’m not saying you’re losing the game, _your_ game, but I think it’s time to reevaluate some of the ways you tend to handle stress.”

Hazel eyes narrow in Liam’s direction. They’re still rimmed with that kohl liner Liam had noticed the first time he’d met the gang leader, but now they’re not as sharp; they don’t cut through Liam like a knife. “Are you saying I’m losing my touch?” That silky voice has dropped considerably, especially when Zayn notices that Liam’s still smug.

“No,” Liam shakes his head. “I’m just saying something’s distracting you from the bigger picture.”

And with that answer, it has Zayn shuffling back. Liam thinks it has to do with the fact that Liam’s a big part of Zayn’s recklessness as of late, but what he doesn’t take into account is the fact that Zayn’s mind is now on a completely different level, head spinning with the possibility that these past few events - them finding Liam’s shooter, his drugs being stolen - it means something else, something deeper than what he’s able to actually see. It has him tense, eyeing the room for another object to throw at the wall, but Liam’s there, standing remotely still and savoring what he thinks is a win on his part.

If only Zayn could flick his gaze up and let him know that things might end up messy real soon.

+

Following the evening of Zayn’s outburst, things have been more than tense. It seems as if the gang leader has completely forgiven Liam for his behavior at the Range, but he can still see the way his shoulders are tense, the way he speaks to his crew and how Harry continuously bites his tongue in order to keep his mouth shut. Liam knows there’s a snarky comment hidden, and he only gives the other lad an encouraging smile when he keeps his mouth shut.

“It wouldn’t be so bad if he actually listened sometimes,” Harry says one evening. He’s in Liam’s room, standing near the bookshelf while sliding his fingers of the ends of the covers.

“I think he does,” Liam admits. “Maybe not in the way you want, but I don’t think he’d be stupid enough not to.”

But Harry snorts and shakes his head. His hair has grown since Liam had first met him. Those brown curls tend to fall over his eyes until a large hand sweeps them away. It gives Harry a much softer look, kinder even, but Liam already knows how great he is. “You’re just saying that because you don’t take his bullshit.”

“Could you not phrase it like that, please?” Liam suggests. “All he does is twist his words around, makes them into impossible riddles he’d like for me to decipher. I don’t know what he wants.”

Harry discreetly turns around, arm resting against a shelf so that he’s leaning a good amount of his weight on the furniture. “It’s not that Zayn’s always wanting something; either he’s trying to prove a point, look like he’s got everything under control, or trying to mask the fact that maybe there are things in life that actually get under his skin. He can’t look weak, yet he’s only human.”

Liam shakes his head and sighs. “Harry, if he’s-” he cuts himself off, runs a hand over his jeans to wipe away the sweat, “if he wants to know me, assuming that that’s the aim here, all he has to do is talk.”

“Talk?” Harry hums. “Darling, Zayn doesn’t know _how_ to talk.”

Liam gives him a bewildered look, but Harry only shrugs before moving over to the bed and falling onto his back. His hands come up to rest behind his head, and Liam ends up moving just so he can see those green eyes.

“Zayn’s got one role in life right now, yeah? Within that role comes a list of responsibilities like looking after the crew, making sure the paper trail is short and nonexistent. He pays close attention to the lives of his people. He waits in the shadows because he’s their superior,” Harry explains. His mouth works slowly, body shifting to get comfortable on a bed he’s not used to sitting on. “They’re _not_ his friends. They don’t consider Zayn a friend.”

“Yet he trusts them?” Liam asks, head ducking down while he picks at the fabric of the comforter. “How does that even work? What are you to him then?”

Harry sits up partially, leaning on his elbows with a brow cocked. “It’s a mutual agreement. Reputation means respect, and everyone knows Zayn. They follow because we’re a bunch of screw ups who need a home, and as far as I can tell you,” Harry breathes, “we’re close. He relies on me to come through with what he needs, and I-”

“You don’t even know, do you?” he speaks, voice firm. “I’m not even sure what I’m looking for anymore.” Liam leans back against his pillows, gazing up at the ceiling because he can’t be bothered to look at Harry while he speaks the truth. “You take this so seriously, and I can see how it might be, but then again what’s it all matter when the lot of you are too busy relying on an unspoken moral code that means death and destruction?” He turns his head, peering down at Harry without making him feel as if Liam really thinks he’s much better. “Do you even have a purpose anymore, or is this all fun and games?”

At that question, Harry tightens up, body coiling like a spring about ready to pounce. For a moment Liam thinks Harry’s going to pull him forward, shake some sense into him, but all he actually does is sit up further, lean into Liam while he fixes a steady gaze on him, one he’s never seen before. “If you lived through half the hell we’ve been through, you wouldn’t be asking such lousy questions.” His voice sounds choked, but firm, and Liam feels the guilt saddle up within his own throat. “What we do here is _survive_ , and I wouldn’t expect a city boy like you to ever understand that struggle. I don’t know what Zayn sees in you, but he notices something, and you better pray to god you can deliver because if there’s one person on this earth who has more than enough experience in throwing away people as if they’re rag dolls, it’s Zayn.”

Liam sucks in a breath, heart hammering in his chest. Harry’s entire being screams danger, and Liam’s terribly sorry for upsetting him, but then again maybe it’s another wake up call that even if Harry is quite nice, he’s just like the rest of them, just another face in a crowd of thugs. “Okay,” he whispers.

Harry tilts his head to the side. “Okay?” he laughs lightly. It only lasts a moment though before he’s back to his hard-pressed demeanor. “There’s a storm, Liam.” Blinking, brown eyelashes span across the top of silky cheekbones. “There’s something Zayn’s not telling me, but you best be prepared.”

“Why’s that?”

“You asked the question - is it all for fun?” The sides of Harry’s lips move up just a bit as if he wants to smile but is fighting against doing so. “You’ll have your answer soon, and it’ll be more than what I could ever give you in words.”

Harry uses that moment to draw away, picking himself up off the bed before exiting the room. He leaves Liam a wake of silence, tension in the air and something dreadful curling up under his ribs. Liam’s lost, not just from Harry’s words, but about his placement, and Zayn and his feelings. Everything’s swirling above him in a cloud that looms dreadfully close, and maybe Harry’s words are a sign that everything’s just about to shatter.

+

By now, he’s accustomed to the odd hours of staying up. His sleep schedule has long since been fucked over, and Liam’s only grateful that there are no strict rules for it, otherwise he’d probably be a bleary-eyed mess in the morning. However what’s currently put him off to finally closing his eyes and escaping from reality is the fact that there is something going on in the den.

He’d been up reading, the lamp on the nightstand providing his only source of light. Of course he reads for the stories, but often times it’s easier to nod off to sleep while reading this late. Although now, Liam closes the book and sits up straight. He tries his best to listen, but there are too many voices, shouts and curses traveling down the hallway. It’s definitely best to stay here, Liam thinks. It’s probably what Harry would want him to do, but then a sharp accent, quick with words and an edge breaks through the multitude of voices, and Liam immediately knows it’s Zayn.

His voice is muffled through the walls, but it sounds deep and dark. Something Liam’s not used to.

“-supposed to be. Answers, and I want them _now_.”

So Liam breathes, adrenaline already kicking in. Slowly, as if someone might hear him, he gets out of bed and makes his way to the door. It creaks open as he twists the doorknob, but there’s no one in the hallway so he slips out and heads for the one door that separates him and the den.

Zayn’s voice is clearer now, and it sounds like more than a threat. It’s deadly, as if he has no patience, and every word that slips out is filled with death, words that pierce Liam so deep he’s beginning to realize exactly what he would’ve witnessed that day out on the Range had Liam decided to stay.

He’s not so bold right now, still debating on actually walking through the door so that maybe he can understand what all the fuss is about, but then there’s a sharp cry, which has Liam jumping back from vertical piece of wood and reconsidering everything.

“It’s only going to get worse,” Zayn says.

Liam’s hand covers his mouth. He can feel his breath, warm against his skin, but the only thing he can focus on is the mechanical laughter that reaches his ears and how it’s met with the sound of slapping, as if skin has met skin. It’s not difficult for Liam to pinpoint what’s going on now. The conversation has been idle for the past couple of seconds, but he’s narrowed down the events currently playing out.

Zayn’s playing interrogator for some god-awful reason.

Another voice rings out at this point, and Liam can only imagine Zayn stepping back, arms crossed over his chest and letting someone else take control. It’s then that he decides to finally slip through the door, knowing that it’s better to enter when there’s a lot more noise so the attention won’t be brought his way.

Yet, as soon as he slips through, only cracking it open just enough to quietly enter, he feels a set of eyes on his body. He remains where he is, only shifting so that his back is against the wall. It’s Zayn that’s staring at him though. Turns out he’d been facing the door and just so happened to catch the movement, but he doesn’t do anything other than stare. Liam feels relieved.

There’s a man in a chair. He’s not tied down, but he is being stared down by a couple of men. They encircle him so that if he were to try and get up, one of them would surely catch him before he got away. Harry’s by Zayn’s side, and his attention is drawn to Liam too when Zayn’s elbow knocks into him lightly. They exchange quiet words before Harry’s ducking around and heading straight for Liam. He can’t help but chew on his lip in worry, eyes paying attention to three different subjects in the room.

“You should go back to bed,” Harry says when he gets to Liam.

But he only shakes his head. “Can hear you through the walls. What’s going on?”

Harry sighs, but he doesn’t give Liam what he wants. “If you stand here and keep quiet, you can stay. But be forewarned, I don’t know what’s going to happen, and it could get ugly.”

Liam only nods, something Harry doesn’t even see, before turning back to Zayn. He’s still staring, but it only lasts less than a minute longer as he shuffles forward, shooing away the lad who’d been trying to talk down to the man in the chair. “I just asked a simple question.”

“Which leads to another and then another,” the male spits. “I know how this goes.”

“Ah,” Zayn tilts his head back. “Is that so?” He’s like a snake, one minute he’s standing there and the next, his leg kicks out, heel coming in contact with the man’s foot. The lad in the chair’s shoe absorbs some of the pressure that Zayn is creating with his boot, but then he presses harder, twisting his entire heel into the floor and further digging into toes. “I may not be able to break them,” Zayn casually states, looking bored as fuck as the man below him withers in pain, “but I know this isn’t a pleasant feeling either. And unfortunately, this is only the beginning too.”

Eventually Zayn pushes away, waving a delicate hand in the air before a fist is thrown. It makes contact with a face, and Liam closes his eyes as he hears the crunch of bone. The unknown male must have a broken nose or his jaw, especially when Liam carefully opens his eyes and finds blood all over the stranger’s face. “See,” Zayn starts, head tilted. “I don’t like it when people are sneaky, when they’re somewhere they’re not supposed to be. You’re a rat,” he decides. “I don’t like rats.”

Liam watches with uncertainty, wonders what the normal protocol is for things like this, whether Zayn just wings it or has a specific sort of mindset in order to get what he wants. He briefly thinks of all those crime movies he’s seen over the last couple of years, how the interrogations were mostly left up to the imagination, but still sent a sickening feeling down his spine.

And never in a million years did Liam think he’d actually be watching one in person.

“It’s only the beginning,” Harry murmurs.

Liam glances over, fist tightening against his side. “What happened?” he decides to ask again.

Harry waits a beat before turning. “He was caught outside the premises. Apparently he followed one of the runners, and Zayn’s pissed because no one’s supposed to let that happen.”

Liam frowns. “How in the world are they supposed to figure out if someone’s following them? Fucking hell, especially if they’re trying to be inconspicuous, and it’s _dark_ outside.”

The other lad just clenches his jaw. “We’re careful. Besides, something’s not right with this one.”

It’s better not to push it any further than that, so he doesn’t. He clicks his mouth shut, leans back against the wall until his shoulders feel the pressure and watches as the man sitting in the chair is currently being talked down to by Zayn. His jaw is in the gang leader’s hand, head turned in Liam’s direction as he bends down close to his ear. Liam can only imagine what obscenities Zayn’s giving, but with the way his lips are curled into a sarcastic, predatory smirk, Liam knows it can’t be good.

However, before things press any further than they’re going now, there’s a murmur upon the man’s lips. It’s a sudden change that causes Zayn to startle, snapping his gaze towards Liam immediately, where he feels the heat of his eyes and the look of pure madness.

“What?” Zayn says firmly, releasing his fingers from his firm grip.

Liam thinks it’s directed at him at first, but then the lad in the chair is chuckling lowly, moving his jaw to let go of some of the pressure it’d been under by Zayn’s fingers. It takes him a moment to gather himself, but as he does, he spits a wad of blood in Zayn’s direction, it nearly hitting his shoe. “I said,” he speaks, “it’s nice to see a familiar face.” He smiles wide before his eyes dart over to Liam, who honestly thought he’d been shielded by the thin light that veils his side of the room, most of it concentrated over towards Zayn and his group.

But as the man continues starring, Liam gets a very bad feeling. He’s being watched with gleaming eyes and a bloody smile. There’s a prickling sensation all across his skin, and for a moment he feels as if he’s lost his breathe.

“What is he talking about, Liam?”

Liam snaps his gaze away from the man in the chair and over to Zayn. He’s not looking at Liam, but those pretty eyes are focused on the ground instead. His voice is deep, almost sounding as if he’s been betrayed, and Liam’s heart leaps into his throat because that’s the last thing Liam has ever thought about doing. “I don’t-” but cuts himself off. He glances at Harry, who’s only staring at him with a raised brow. “I don’t know what he’s talking about,” he finishes.

And it’s not the answer Zayn wants to hear because as soon as Liam’s done, his entire body shifts, muscles tense and eyes looking directly at him. “ _How_ do you know him?” he asks. It’s slow, and Liam realizes what it means to be on the receiving end of Zayn’s fury.

It feels all sorts of wrong, so Liam just shakes his head. “I don’t know him.” Try as he might, he knows his voice is shaky, and he probably comes across as a liar, but Liam swears he’s never seen the man before, and if he has, he’d only been another face in the crowd.

Although, what saves anyone else from talking is the suspect in question. He tsks, shakes his head and smiles at Liam. “Oh, how could you forget?” His tone is of pity, but it’s obvious no one buys it. “You know, I should’ve drove that knife right into that pretty neck of yours. Would’ve saved us all the trouble, now wouldn’t it?”

That very smile is still bloody, face bruised, and it’s not that Liam doesn’t care, but it feels like his heart has been ripped out of his chest. He freezes up, takes a step back (or at least tries to, what with the hall behind him being in the way) while his face falls, disregarding the mask he’d been deliberately trying to keep up. There’s a hand on his shoulder, but he quickly knocks it away, knowing it’s Harry. His touch feels off, all sorts of wrong, and Liam can’t even find it in himself to look away from one of his attackers “You’re one of them, aren’t you?” he asks.

“Liam-” Zayn starts, but Liam overpowers him.

“And I’ve done nothing wrong,” he seethes, chest tight and hands curled into fists. He takes a step forward, disappointment etched onto his face. “I _promise_.”

A snort of laughter breaks everyone’s train of thought, and while Liam swallows in disgust at the figure sitting in the chair, still staring at him with amusement, it’s quickly quieted down when Zayn’s reflexes kick in, and he wraps his fingers around the man’s neck and squeezes. What everyone gets in return is the sight of hands sliding up around Zayn’s wrist, clutching them, nails digging into tan skin, but Zayn doesn’t sour at the contact. “I swear to god, Liam,” Zayn says calmly, eyelashes fluttering softly as he peeks at Liam. “If you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’ll hold the both of you responsible.”

But Liam’s not scared of him; not now; now when the truth grips him like a vice. He clenches his jaw and tries his best to keep his eyes from blurring over. “I tried to help Niall the day he told me he was as good as dead,” Liam starts. He talks to Zayn, only has eyes for him because he needs him to understand and believe him above all others. “So I took what was left of the money I had and used it to pay them off so that Niall would live.”

Zayn’s eyes soften just a fraction, and he waits for Liam to continue.

“After I gave them the money, they threatened Niall, wanted me to tell him he couldn’t be late on his payments again. By extension, they held a knife to my throat to emphasize their point.” He rubs the back of his hand over his mouth out of nervousness, and he feels weak. “I came back that night to ask Niall what was going on, and he’d told me we’d talk about it in the morning. And when it came, he was gone, and now I’m here.” His shoulders fall in defeat because the rest of this all rides on whether Zayn’s competent enough to trust Liam. He’s given him no reason not to, and somehow knowing that he could potentially be hurt by Zayn’s hands makes him feel dizzy. He’d rather not just be another body lost in the sea of men when Zayn’s thrown caution to the wind and disposed of them.

Zayn gives no indication on whether he believes Liam, but his next course of action is enough to have Liam relaxing extensively. “So you’re a Blue Blood,” he states, licking the front of his teeth. His grip on the neck has loosened, but not by very much, only enough so that he’s keeping the man alive. “And you’re on my territory; how unfortunate for you.”

“You can’t kill me,” the man taunts.

Liam watches as Zayn’s tongue darts out of his mouth, gliding over his lips and making them shiny. “No one ever said anything about killing. However, we can have a little fun.” His hand finally drops away from the man’s throat, snapping his fingers together and gaining absolute attention. “Why don’t we start with payback? I think a little knife play will do, don’t you?” Zayn doesn’t even have to nod before someone’s moving..

Thing is, Liam knows exactly where they’re headed: to a drawer behind the bar. He’s washed those knifes countless times when he’d had to cut up lemons and limes and various things. So it only takes him a split second to make a rash decision though. He scurries over to the cabinet, not wasting any time in opening the door and fumbling for the sharpest knife. He thinks he hears Harry’s protest, but ignores him in favor of gripping the blade and looking up to find that one of the members of the gang is pausing mid-step, eyeing Liam because he’s the one that’s supposed to be fetching Zayn his request. So Liam just says _I got it_ and is left to grip the handle of the knife in his right hand.

The blade is pointed downwards, and when he rounds the bar corner, he spots Harry staring at him with a frown. Liam pauses, feeling slightly ashamed for what Harry’s probably thinking he’s doing, but Liam’s got a plan. It’s not very good, and all it involves is getting closer to Zayn, but he knows this can’t happen. Not on his behalf. He won’t be a witness to it.

Liam straightens his back, hand becoming sweaty from the nerves running through his body. He gets closer to Zayn with each step he takes, and in that time span he uses each second to breathe. When he’s close enough, he stands there until Zayn senses his presence, turning his head with only a flash of surprise in his eyes. “Didn’t know you wanted to join in,” he murmurs.

But Liam shakes his head, eyes falling to the wayside to glance at the man in the chair. He’s about an arm’s length away from Liam now, but even then, it doesn’t feel like there’s enough room between them. He hates the fact that he can feel eyes boring into his skin, making his blood hot and body itch. He’s the center of attention, the very last thing he’s ever wanted. “Don’t do this,” he says instead. Zayn’s still staring at him, and Liam tries to look earnest. “Please, Zayn.”

“Give me the knife, Liam.”

Liam doesn’t expect anything less, but there’s a glimmer of something within him that thinks if he just begs a little more, Zayn might give way. Ultimately he knows how this goes, what will happen here and that Zayn’s planning not to show mercy, but Liam also realizes the stakes because what the man had said was right. Zayn can’t kill him, just as he couldn’t the shooter - even if Liam has a feeling that he’s already dead. It’s more principle than anything, and Liam doesn’t need nor want Zayn to defend him like he is. He’s a big boy, capable of forgiving someone in due time, and maybe he feels like this because he’s still not fully accustomed to gang life and the way things are run; so maybe it’s quite unfair for Liam to stand his moral ground and hope for something different.

His expectations, he realizes, might be too high, but he’s also come to realize that Zayn has fascinations. His attention span is held by what’s most important to him at the moment, and if Harry’s words mean anything, it’s that Liam is something Zayn admires, something he can’t quite figure out. He knows he has that to his advantage, and the only way that Zayn gets to explore it is if Liam does irrational, impulsed things like this. It feeds Zayn and his unwavering need for change. Liam might as well be an object, but he refuses to see it like that either; it’s like Zayn has an unyielding need to please him, like a man begging for forgiveness the only way he knows how, wanting to prove he can listen and obey when it comes to those most important to him.

But all things considered, Liam still doesn’t know _why_ he’s important, why he’s an anchor for Zayn now after all this time. What’s made him so special to be held in high regards?

As an answer, Liam shakes his head and moves his arm backwards as far as he can. He knows Zayn could have any of his men easily take it from him; hell, Zayn could take it from him if he wanted to, but he doesn’t. Instead, he just eyes Liam with interest.

“Liam,” his voice drops, his name sharp on Zayn’s tongue.

“Zayn,” he replies. “Don’t. N-not now, not _here_.” The spit in his mouth becomes thick, mouth going dry as the world feels like it’s narrowing down to a staring contest. His breath, which is on a sudden incline considering Liam’s having just to think to breathe, becomes a lot more ragged.

Liam doesn’t plan on saying anything else, so he doesn’t. But time is ticking by slowly and the anticipation grows. The silence is startled soon after with the touch of fingertips on the inside of his elbow. They grip Liam’s skin lightly, fingers dusting over paleness and traveling downwards ever so slowly. It sends a shiver down Liam’s spine, but he doesn’t look away from Zayn as his fingers caress his arm. Eventually, Zayn’s at Liam’s hand, pads of his digits encircling Liam’s wrist carefully before lifting up his arm entirely.

And it goes in slow motion, or at least that’s how it feels, when Zayn reaches around with his free arm to grasp the knife handle, cupping Liam’s own fingers and prying them off of the sharp object.

Liam lets it go easily enough. He doesn’t want to, but he does. Zayn ends up twirling the knife, situating it in a comfortable position in his hand before he turns to his side and passes it over to someone else. In that moment, it’s like Liam’s heart stops, the sound of blood rushing through his ears. He zones out for a moment, the only thing bringing him back from his daze is the tight squeeze on his wrist. Liam blinks, watches as Zayn leans in closer to him until they’re pressed close, Zayn’s lips against his ear. “Go, and I’ll join you in a moment.”

Liam swallows, but it hurts. His throat feels as if it’s constricted and no amount of force, no amount of effort he makes in trying to speak, works because he’s so tongue tied and defeated that it wouldn’t mean much anyway.

He sighs, feels as Zayn moves away from his body before slowly slipping his fingers down Liam’s hand until they’re no longer touching. And now, all Liam can do is stand still and hope for something, anything. All he knows is that he doesn’t want this to happen, whatever it may be, not on his behalf and not with the lingering knowledge that something very, very wrong could come out of this. Generally, this _thing_ going on is wrong all in itself. Zayn should have no part when it comes to physically harming others, but something much worse lingers in the back of Liam’s brain and within the room.

But even with that, Liam relents. His resolve breaks, and he finally takes a step back. A touch on his shoulder startles him, but Liam finds Harry there, tugging him back further as Zayn watches. It’s silent, like something out of a film, and the only thing that breaks it is the low snickers of the man in the chair. He’d probably been analyzing the situation, trying to make sense of what was going on before him as much as anyone else was.

“Oh!” The man grins, Liam only seeing from a distance now that Harry’s trying to drag him through the hallway door. “Had I known that Zayn had an Achilles heel, this affair between gangs could’ve been over with-”

The door slams shut before the sentence is finished, effectively cutting off Liam’s only supply of news. The voices are low through the door now, much more so that he can’t hear what they’re saying. “What is he going to do?”

Harry release of oxygen is ragged, hand still encompassing Liam’s. “I’m not quite sure how to answer that,” he replies.

“Fuck you, Harry,” Liam bites, shoving the other man away before taking off down the hall. “You know good and well-”

“Liam,” Harry warns, trailing behind Liam as quickly as he can. “New information has come to light-”

But Liam turns on his heel, hands reaching out but not to grab as he gestures his frustrations. “What does that even _mean_? I’ve been cooperative; I’ve done as you asked and told Zayn to back the fuck off. But I don’t even know anymore! I don’t know what game I’m playing at here. How does any of this benefit anyone now?” His chest feels a bit heavy, but Liam breathes in deep in order not to yell. “I don’t think you realize my dilemma, Harry. I’ve not only just been thrust into this world, right? But you’re telling me to be like this and do that, and _bloody fuck_ , it’s contradicting. Don’t you see that?” He shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair before pulling at the roots. “It’s... there’s no direction. It’s like it’s all being made up as we go along, and I’m falling right into it.”

When he pauses, it gives the perfect opportunity for Harry to but in, but he doesn’t. Not yet, at least, because his eyes narrow, head tilting to the side while making calculations of his own. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“His point,” Liam remarks, blinking away the haziness his eyes have seem to accumulate within the past few seconds. “This isn’t just about where I stand on things, is it? This is more about showing me, once again, that my thinking will never be right. At least, not here.” He takes the opportunity to lean against the wall, sliding down until he’s resting on his haunches, face curled within his arms. “Whether it’s some power trip, trying to force me to see something I don’t believe in, or further trying to humiliate me, I can’t decide. Maybe it’s both, and maybe it’s something I’m just not seeing.”

During this time, Liam’s calmed down, but he can’t bring himself to move from his position. And as the minutes tick by, and Liam’s never met with Harry’s voice, he figures it doesn’t even matter anymore because at this point, all of this is a game. Maybe his life isn’t, and the reality he’s in isn’t being toyed with either, but his mind, his brain, and most certainly his heart has been screwed over enough at this point. There is no telling which way is left and right; there’s not even a way for Liam to depict a pattern.

And maybe that’s why he’s becoming so frustrated as of late. There is no consistent pattern to anything that’s been done. It’s all been up in the air as far as he is concerned, his entire life shaken out like a dirty towel and placed back down again with wrinkles and uneven layers. Liam doesn’t want to say that any of this is his fault, especially for what he’s been dragged into, but he’s beginning to realize it’s probably fairer of him to say that he’s been his own undoing considering the changes in his life.

“It’d be better to fall asleep in a bed rather than against the wall, if you ask me.”

Liam darts up, hands flying out to support himself as he stares up at Zayn. He’s got his hands behind his back, casually watching Liam with curious eyes. “Where’s Harry?” is the first thing that comes out of his mouth.

Zayn looks around before shrugging. “Gone.”

Liam’s face falls into a frown, and as much as he’d like to spit back something harsh, he’s got nothing. With his shoulders slumped, Liam trails back to his room carefully, ever reminded that Zayn’s right behind him. “Is there something you need?” He hears the door close, and that should startle him because Liam hasn’t actually been in an enclosed space with Zayn since the night of the party, and he very much remembers how that turned out. But more than anything, Liam’s had it, doesn’t have much resolve left within his body to argue with Zayn and listen to what he has to say. “Because if I’m honest, I’d rather be alone right now.”

“It’s probably time we talked, isn’t it?” Zayn answers, avoiding Liam’s feelings and obvious request to be left by himself.

Liam snorts and shakes his head. He can’t even be bothered to sit himself down on the bed, instead opting for walking around to the other side of the room in haste so that the bed is the main object keeping him from lashing out at Zayn. And he’d very much like to given that Zayn’s been a proper dick. It’s not like Liam should’ve really expected the other lad to pay any attention to what little ol’ Liam had to say, but somewhere deep down it makes his blood boil. “Not sure if now’s a good time.” Liam crosses his arms over his chest, a reliable way to show off his arms and add a little muscle to it. It’s not him showing off as much as it is telling Zayn that he’s literally got no fucks left to give right now, and he’s angry.

“You okay?” Zayn decides to ask. He’s leaning up against the door now, head tilted back slightly, and there’s a hint of a smirk on his face. A dark eyebrow is arched, and Liam thinks he looks a bit too laid back for his liking.

So Liam decides to hit him where it hurts. “No,” he fires back quickly. “I’m standing in the room with a murderer. How did you expect me to feel?”

Zayn sucks in his cheeks, eyeing him carefully. “Technically, I didn’t lay a hand on him. It’s quite impossible to be in two places at once.”

And Liam feels something snap inside. It’s hard to breathe, and there’s a sure frown on his face, jaw clenched so tightly. His hands, rough and calloused as they are, are curled into fists, and if he didn’t know any better, Liam would say he’d be physically shaking from gall after hearing Zayn’s pathetic rebuttal of an excuse.

He laughs, dark and harsh, something throaty that emits jagged and sharp. It lasts for less than a couple of seconds, and Liam doesn’t even know where to begin right now. So he starts off with a simple, “Fuck you, Malik.”

But that only seems to egg Zayn on because he pushes himself up against the wall further, standing taller than he was before, that little tilt of a smile still stuck on his face. “You’re angry with me then.”

“Like hell I wouldn’t be,” Liam says. “Do you realize there are consequences for actions? Don’t you see that this world you live in is not _right_?”

Something quick flashes in Zayn’s eyes, but it’s so brief that Liam can’t even pinpoint what it might possibly be. Instead Zayn decides to shift himself again, bring himself away from his position and start towards Liam.

And that’s the moment he’s realized his mistake. See, Liam’s on the other side of the room, sure, away from Zayn and his entire being, but that also means there isn’t another way out. So Liam assesses the situation, a small flutter of panic sweeping throughout his stomach. His only option is to climb over the bed if things become too much. Even then, it’s not like Zayn can’t just reach out and grab him either. It’s not easy trying to quickly crawl away from someone when on a mattress.

“Liam,” Zayn tsks, tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth, “haven’t you learned that in my world, _our_ world, the wrongs are the right, and the rights are the wrong?”

“Still doesn’t give you the right to chose your own moral ground based on what you perceive to be right.”

Zayn is still making his way closer, ever so slowly and with so much caution. It seems as if he knows exactly what Liam’s thinking, that there’s a possibility that Liam can very well leave when he wants, but Zayn’s trying his best to get him to stay. “Then I guess I can use that argument against you, couldn’t I?”

Obviously Liam doesn’t want to say yes, that Zayn proves a very prevalent point, but he stands his ground regardless and decides to change the subject. “We’re clashing, then. Maybe it’s time we sort this out so I can officially leave.”

“Hasn’t being here taught you nothing?” He looks pained, nearly, as if Liam’s just had the audacity to burn a hole straight through everything he’s soaked up at the clubhouse. “When I said we needed to talk, I meant it. You chose to come after me first, when we could’ve already been to the part of me leaving you alone like you wanted.”

Liam breathes out deeply, resolutely. There’s no point, and he’s done, and he’s tired. Zayn’s stubbornness is one thing Liam will never be able to beat, and as much as he’d been angry before, he realizes that Zayn’s drawn the attention away from that, taking the upper hand and just using it to annoy Liam.

“It’s come to my attention that things aren’t all as they seem,” Zayn says, breaking through Liam’s thoughts. He’s paused directly in front of the bed now, only looking at Liam to assure he’s paying attention. “Had I not found out that you knew that bloody son of a bitch that I was so looking forward to spending some time with,” Zayn shakes his head, “I probably wouldn’t have been able to figure out his real intentions, or really, any of their intentions.”

“What are you on about?” Because Zayn definitely as his attention now.

“‘m not gonna scare you, Liam. Won’t put you through that kind of shit.” Zayn sighs, running a hand through his dark locks before dropping it completely. “My point right now is that no matter what, you’re safe. I-”

But Liam doesn’t wait for him to finish because his brows are furrowed and _that_ promise, one that Liam has no doubt Zayn will keep, is bordering on the tone of uncertainty regardless of Zayn trying to keep it hidden. “What, exactly, is that supposed to mean?”

“Various things,” Zayn answers without actually doing so. “That man crossed a line, a very wide one that he shouldn’t have. Same with the one who shot you.” He looks pointedly over at the other lad now, figuring Liam’s still trying to wrap his mind around it all without having the necessary details to do so. “Sometimes I can’t give people what they want, and it’s more than slightly disappointing. I thought you’d be happy.”

The last statement is small, and Liam makes it a point to actually stare at Zayn, definitely making the other lad uncomfortable with his scrutinizing. Because Liam needs to see that Zayn means that, that it’s not out of some twisted sort of vengeance, or something for his own self-preservation. Liam knows for sure that what Zayn does has meaning behind it, the morality of it always in question, but if he’s admitting that it wasn’t so much for himself as it was for Liam, well, Liam doesn’t think he could actually forgive him, not completely. He’s still debating on why he’s okay with staying near a group of people who identify as proper criminals. But Liam’s always had a big heart, and he doesn’t want to believe Zayn’s lying to him.

And basically, his whole thought process and situation is so fucked up that he actually drops his rigid shoulders and sighs out a steady breath. “The first time I stomped off and called you out on your bullshit, should’ve been a good clue that I wasn’t happy.”

Zayn only nods in understanding, and that’s enough for Liam at the moment.

“But what you’re telling me now doesn’t make me feel better, and I don’t think I can excuse your behavior-”

“There’s something going on, Liam,” Zayn adds. “There always is, but I won’t involve you.”

Liam ends up interpreting that differently though. It doesn’t take a genius to see through Zayn, but then again, and especially according to Harry, Liam has a gift. “This wasn’t just a coincidence, was it?”

“What are you on about?”

Yet Liam only gives Zayn a pointed look because he knows good and well what Liam’s asking. “Are you scared?”

Liam thinks _fuck_ before licking his lips, a sudden panic swirling and tightening up against his lungs. Of course Zayn’s always been cryptic, but to this degree is a whole other thing, and much like he’s done with Harry, bothered him until Harry at least gave him the minimal amount of information, Liam wants more. “There’s a bigger picture,” Liam states. “There’s something going on that you can’t see. Just like I told you.”

Every shred of anger seeps out of Liam with the admittance of his accusation. Zayn doesn’t even help his case by remaining silent, and Liam thinks that’s quite shit of him to keep mum when things aren’t looking good.

“So something could still happen then. What aren’t you telling me?” Liam’s voice comes off as a little too needy and definitely a little too scared, eyes pleading with Zayn.

But Zayn can only swallow, watch the panic rise in Liam’s eyes before he makes a quick decision of his own.

Liam’s immediately swallowed up by two arms surrounding his body. His head instinctively finds its way into the crook of Zayn’s neck, breathing uneven. He thinks he may be having a panic attack, but then a soothing hand is rubbing circles across the expanse of his back. “Liam,” Zayn says softly. “Breathe for me.”

“I’m going to die, aren’t I?” His breathing is still so labored, and there’s a brief thought about how it’s probably not best for himself to be crowded up against another body like he is, that people who have anxiety attacks are best left in open spaces so that they can get their body under control.

Thing is, as soon as Zayn tries to pull back from Liam just to be able to look him in the eye, Liam’s fingers curl tightly into the fabric of Zayn’s leather jacket. He wonders if his blunt nails will end up leaving marks in the material, but that soon escapes him when Zayn wrestles himself halfway free to look at Liam directly. “ _Breathe_ ,” he says sternly, and Liam does. He takes in a couple gulps of air, through the nose and out the mouth while Zayn nods and smiles at him. At some point, Zayn’s hands have come up to frame Liam’s face. His smile is still there, eyes a little brighter. “Good, babe. That’s good.”

Liam hasn’t fully calmed down yet, but he thinks he’ll be okay as he comes back to his sense, feeling his entire face flush with the realization that Zayn’s still cupping his face in his hands. “They won’t get you,” Zayn murmurs. His voice is tight, like he means harm, but Liam knows, automatically knows, that none of it will come his way, not from Zayn. “You’re mine, Liam,” the other lad insists, “And what’s mine, they don’t mess with.”

And in Liam’s cloudy mind, he lets out an exasperated laugh. “Do you know how fucking mental that sounds?”

Zayn ignores the question. “Are you still scared?”

Liam doesn’t answer right away, but he does feel the way that Zayn’s fingers are still placed softly against his cheeks. His thumb strokes absentmindedly at Liam’s skin, and he honestly thinks it’s comforting. “Is it wrong of me to say yes?”

What comes next should be a surprise, and it is, but not as much as Liam thinks it should be because the next thing he knows Zayn is so close, so very, very close to him that he can literally count Zayn’s eyelashes. He can spot the small imperfections on Zayn’s skin, and the way his eyes hold no grudges. The breathe seeps out of Zayn, brushing amongst Liam’s jawline in a steady rhythm of _in and out_ , and before he can even follow his mind to his next train of thought, Zayn’s lips are pressed against his own.

They’re a bit chapped, and Liam freezes up completely, not quite sure what’s going on is _actually_ going on. But it's because he feels Zayn nudge him with his hand, pressing forward a little more, that Liam (and he swears it’s through no fault of his own) lets go; he lets himself go, closes his eyes and decides to fuck it and pushes forward. One of Zayn’s hands falls to the wayside, sliding around Liam’s hips in an attempt to keep him steady while one still palms at his cheek, holding his face carefully so his lips can move gracefully against Liam’s.

He can smell the stale cigarette smoke and faint cologne Zayn wears. It brushes up against his senses until he feels a tongue dart out against his lips, licking and wetting them. So Liam follows, parts his lips just the smallest amount before Zayn’s back in place, pressing forward to lick against his teeth. Liam feels like it should be rough, should be different than this, but it’s not. It’s quite tame and sweet because the more he feels himself relax, the quicker it takes him to notice the way that Zayn’s all over him, so close and relentless.

That is until he pulls back so quickly which leaves Liam a bit breathless, eyes darting down to see Zayn licking his lips. “I don’t want you to be scared,” Zayn says. His hand, the one on Liam’s cheek, moves downwards until it’s cupping the back of Liam’s neck, bringing Liam forward into what he thinks is another kiss. But it’s not, and he’s vaguely disappointed. Rather, Zayn rests his forehead against Liam’s, holds him in place while they stare at one another as best as they can without going cross-eyed and dizzy.

“And you think I can help it?” Liam finds himself whispering.

Zayn ends up closing his eyes, inhaling and exhaling steadily through his nostrils. He’s too neutral now, too used to the fact that questions like this aren’t directed at him because he’s not open like that, not willing to have people near enough to betray him. And it’s only a simple question, sure, but Zayn gives demands, ignores questions and defines logic to suit him best. “You worry too much,” he replies.

Liam can’t help but whimper. “For my safety, yes, and to be honest, I’m not quite sure why you don’t feel the same for yourself. You never-”

Zayn’s fingers are still wrapped around the back of Liam’s neck, holding him in place, and he doesn’t dare move. His hand is warm against his skin, and it feels nice, feels good to have comfort again. “I don’t need to worry about me, or anything,” Zayn explains in return, but of course Liam doesn’t buy it.

“Bullshit,” Liam suddenly spits, straightening up before his hands find themselves twisted within the lapels of Zayn’s leather jacket. “I don’t know why you lie so much; especially to me. You _don’t_ fool me, Zayn. Don’t lie to me now.” When it seems like Zayn’s about to speak again, a little flicker in his eye that lets Liam know he’s about to let out some false comfort, he shakes his head quickly, fists tightening around Zayn’s jacket in order to bring him closer.

“You think I got into this position because I had _feelings_? Because I was _scared_?” He sounds haughty, like the arrogant ass that Liam knows all too well, and so since his face shows it, Zayn’s entire expression softens. It’s not as defensive as it started out, and Liam approves, knowing that Zayn’s beginning to realize that Liam’s not stupid, neither a toy nor someone he can boss around. Liam’s not someone who’s going to be taking orders from Zayn unless there is no other choice but to. “That’s not how it works,” he dispels. “Not in this place. It’s a game of fucking chess, remember? I’ve to make the right move, and I always do.”

“So what happens if one of us dies then, hmm? What’s the point in that, in this?” Liam urges, not at all appreciating Zayn’s cockiness. Liam’s yet to break him.

Zayn’s lips are moist, but chapped, and that doesn’t stop him from flicking out his tongue, licking them once again. “The point is that there aren’t very many nice people, and if I let my guard down-”

“This conversation sounds familiar, and yet you continuously persuade me that even if you’re willing to risk everything…” he trails off, eyes falling lower than Zayn’s face. “Sounds to me like you care too much despite what you say.”

A tight, gripping laugh ripples out of Zayn’s throat, face expanding into a taut smile. “Alright,” Zayn nods. “If that’s what you want to assume, but by asking me questions you’re only proving how far your interest in my well being goes.”

Liam can’t help but suck in a breath, and it betrays what he’d like to show Zayn. It earns him an interested gleam, to which Liam ignores and decides to look back with trepidation, not out of the possibility that Zayn might dig further into the truth about Liam that he’s probably already calculating as of this moment, but from how far he’s willing to take that information. “Are you scared?” Liam decides to ask, ignoring their previous words and Zayn’s belief that he doesn’t feel as much as he’d like to believe. There’s a point now, a purpose for Liam’s question because if he’s able to actually turn this around, put perspective on what he’s really trying to get at, then maybe Zayn will admit that there is much more at stake here than he’s letting on.

“And what would I have to be scared of?”

“Everything,” Liam answers. It’s not the one he wants to give. Not yet at least.

“No,” Zayn shakes his head. “Rebuilding is a pain in the ass, and I told you-”

Liam clicks his tongue in a warning, effectively cutting Zayn off. However he’s not used to it, not used to having someone reprimand him for anything. “Me,” Liam says, to which he’s given a twisted sort of look from Zayn, as if he doesn’t understand. “You’re terrified of losing me.” And everything Liam’s looking for is answered in the way that Zayn’s face pales so quickly. His entire facial expression drops blank, eyes the only thing betraying his true feelings, so Liam grips him so tight around the waist, brings him in closer. “Do you see now, Zayn?” he asks. “What’s changed between the moment we met and right now? What has Harry so convinced that you’re not entirely you anymore?”

There is no straight answer. Both Liam and Zayn know this, but that doesn’t stop Liam from holding on tightly, clutching onto Zayn with dear life and waiting for an answer he may never get.

But something does come, just not in the way Liam expected it. It happens again, a kiss. Zayn’s the first to initiate it, twisting his way out of Liam’s grip in order to latch on the younger male. He crowds Liam’s space, has him bumping up against the wall in order to hold them both steady, and if Liam hadn’t known any better, he’d say it was needy and desperate and looking for something to signify meaning and truth.

So Liam decides to give it to Zayn; whatever he’s looking for, Liam isn’t sure he’s it, but he’ll offer what he has. If it keeps him at bay, keeps Zayn here and willing and listening, then that’s fine by Liam. And while his thoughts tend to dwell on the potential disaster he could be bringing himself into, Zayn is comforting; he’s real, and he’s here, and it’s so much more than Liam can take. So he does and without regard or regret either.

Liam shoves Zayn back, pries him away from his lips, and it’s obvious to see that Zayn burns steady, disliking the way that Liam’s shoved him aside. He doesn’t need to speak words for every action to settle into Liam’s body; he knows what he wants, how deep this is between them. And that’s okay, and Liam let’s Zayn take his wrist and tug him forward, turning them around before Liam’s flat on the bed with Zayn crawling up his body quickly for another little mouth-to-mouth session.

And in between those kisses, with Zayn’s lips trailing over his skin, Liam getting impatient and wanting Zayn’s shirt off, he pulls back quickly enough. The minute Zayn’s shirt is gone, Liam’s hands are on his chest, touching and lingering at the rest of his tattoos. There are battle wounds, previous scars entailing other stories, other fights, but Liam fully intends to leave his own, wants to know what makes Zayn tick. He’s through with those mind games, knows he’s finally won and succeeded in dispelling Zayn’s weakness.

Zayn may believe he’s superman, but Liam’s most certainly his kryptonite. That alone sends a thrill down his spine, yet a faint tinge of agony that Zayn’s found something in him that no one else has been able to see. He should be worried, should probably be questioning his choices and his wavering attitude since he’d been furious with Zayn’s actions just before all of this, but then Zayn’s staring down at Liam, helping him off with his shirt before he’s licking his lips wet again, all pink and a little puffy from their kissing, where Zayn finally whispers, “Home.”

And Liam furrows his brows because he doesn’t understand, and it looks as if Zayn’s pained that he doesn’t. So he crawls off of Liam, shucks off his trousers quickly before he helps Liam do the same, both bare and yet still adamant about staring at one another in the eyes.

Zayn’s body settles on top of Liam’s so easily, finding a place in between his legs. “Home,” he repeats himself, hips finally colliding just right with Liam’s until their cocks brush against one another. Liam nearly hisses at the contact, bucks his hips up at the feeling, but Zayn presses him back down, fingers definitely covering the skin of Liam’s hip with the intent of leaving a bruise. “That’s what you remind me of.”

He’s so soft, Liam believes. The black hair, disheveled and messy, completely framing Zayn’s face as he stares down at Liam. He looks different, so young and naive, and there are no other thoughts than _this_ Zayn because he’s different. So Liam places a tentative hand on Zayn’s arm and asks, “Why?”

And Zayn smiles brilliantly as he moves himself away from Liam for a moment, digging through the nightstand drawer and coming back with what Liam knows is a bottle of lube. “I don’t know,” he admits, fingers brushing up against Liam’s skin and all over his body. He ends up near his legs, nudging Liam to spread them wider before he grins and presses a kiss to Liam’s collarbone. “You were so naive, right? Didn’t know what you’d gotten yourself into, and you reminded me of what I had at one point.”

Liam gasps as he feels Zayn’s finger against his hole. He’s completely avoided his cock, but Liam can definitely forgive him for that with the way the pad of his thumb presses lightly at his entrance.

“So bright, too,” Zayn murmurs, finally drawing back before he’s opening the bottle of lube and easily coating his fingers. Liam doesn’t even question it, just watches and wonders what’s changed in the last five minutes to have them both so open and honest. Liam could certainly think he’s the most vulnerable right now, letting Zayn find his way back to his arse, gently pressing in one finger at a time, but then that’d be a lie. Liam’s not sure if Zayn knows it, but he does, knows that whatever’s going on now has found Zayn taking the two steps forward he’d been hesitant to do all along.

There’s a gasp on Liam’s tongue as Zayn finally pushes in his third finger, twisting them around before pulling out. He has to clutch the comforter beneath him, hold onto something solid, all the while feeling Zayn’s body pressed up against his side. It lasts like this for a few moments longer, not nearly long enough for Liam’s liking, but then Zayn’s in his space again, pressing his lips against Liam’s neck softly, the scuff on Zayn’s own jaw brushing and scratching yet feeling so good nonetheless. “Confusion and arrogance,” Liam says.

Zayn draws back with a crinkled laugh. “Safety and understanding without even trying.” And Liam can almost hear the whimper in Zayn’s voice, as if he hadn’t meant to say anything of the sort. But Liam doesn’t want him to draw away, likes this very much despite his own reservations. When Zayn’s like this, he willingly comes, doesn’t try to pull the rug out from underneath Liam.

“Has that changed?”

When Zayn draws back from Liam, it’s to slick himself up with lube in order to nestle up against Liam once again. He presses closely to him, settles his body on top of Liam in a way that covers him, both warm and full of electricity. It only takes a guiding hand before Zayn’s pushing into Liam slowly, with him nodding and mouth falling open as he grips Zayn’s bicep. “No, nothing has.”

Liam’s so _full_ , and it feels so good. It takes him a good minute or so to finally blink away the fuzziness of pleasure, before he can regain all of his senses and the fact that Zayn is _in_ him and not just a heavy presence on the other side of the room; he’s like this without arguing, without them exchanging words lit on fire. It’s everything Liam didn’t know he needed. “I beg to differ,” he whispers, a slight amount of sweat covering his brow. He nods slightly, gives Zayn the go ahead for him to to finally move, and when he does, it’s harsh and unforgiving, bringing pain to Liam he hasn’t experienced in a long time.

And while at first he thinks it might be on purpose, the way that Zayn’s more determined, as if this is strictly for releasing rather than feeling, Liam draws up his legs, curves them around Zayn’s waist and holds him still. “You’re not always in control.” Liam breathes evenly, gazing up at Zayn as he trails his hands down his sides gently, resting them in the place just where hips meet thigh. “Like this,” Liam presses. And he guides as much as he can, waiting for Zayn to follow suit because Liam’s actions would mean nothing if Zayn didn’t follow, and it’s about time he realize it’s a two way street.

His hips pull out and push back into Liam much, much slower than before, but that’s okay because Liam can feel it. He can feel Zayn and the way he stutters in his movements, anxiousness growing across his face because it feels out of place like this, not sure if he’s doing himself or Liam any favors. But all it takes is a few more thrusts before he’s brushing up against Liam’s nerve-endings, causing him to sigh and nearly go limp. “Like that,” he encourages, needing to wipe away Zayn’s unsteady emotions. “Just like that.” And of course if he could, Liam would be all over the place with praises, but Zayn’s taking his time, just as Liam had silently asked, and he’s falling apart.

Zayn’s no different either seeing as he’d been trying to hold himself up, hands pressed firmly into the mattress on either side of Liam’s head, but he falls down to his forearms and closer to Liam, and that gives the other lad the perfect opportunity to kiss Zayn, evening out his furrowed brow and letting him fall into a more natural rhythm between the two.

“God, you’re something else,” Zayn whispers. His skin slides easily against Liam’s as he pushes and pulls himself. It’s made easier, not as harsh and sticky, with the convenience of sweat between the two of them.

“‘m different,” Liam says along with a sigh when Zayn manages to rut up against him with a little more force.

“Yeah, you are, and I still don’t understand why. Especially with me.”

Liam just barely opens his eyes, feeling boneless and not wanting to move because Zayn is… _so good_ , and he doesn’t want it to stop. “Because I pushed, and you let me.” He says it so simply, as if that sums up his justification quite nicely. And he leaves it at that though, finding favor in attacking Zayn’s neck with little bites and licks, determined to show his efforts in his steady haze.

In the meantime, Zayn not only gets a bit rougher, but he shifts Liam’s leg forward, bending it so that he’s pressing in deeper. “I’ve thought of this, you know.”

Liam hums against Zayn’s skin, can’t find it in himself to pull off although he answers by dragging his fingernails, as short and blunt as they are, against Zayn’s back.

“‘cept you were on your knees mostly,” Zayn continues. “Thought maybe I’d eventually break you or something, figured it wouldn’t be long before I had you crawling like the rest of them.”

Of course Zayn can’t see, not with Liam still pressed close into Zayn’s shoulder, but something burns hot, flickering quickly through Liam’s eyes. “I don’t bend easily.”

Zayn laughs, a light sound that holds a sense of happiness. “No, you don’t.” He reaches forward for Liam, holds his face with his fingers again, and while the rest of his body is a bit slow and tantalizing, his hold on Liam gets stronger. Liam tries to pull away, but the pads of Zayn’s digits sink into the flesh of his jaw, a brief reminder of what Liam’s gotten himself into. “Which reminds me,” he bucks up into Liam, causing him to move up on the bed, and Liam grimaces, “don’t play me a fool in front of my men again.”

Liam’s eyes narrow, and it’s getting harder not to moan given that he’s been riding a thin line with Zayn this entire time, cock hard and pressed against his belly. He’s a little surprised he hasn’t cum yet, kept himself at bay this long with the added pressure of Zayn against the length of him. “Is that what this is about then? Come to fuck some sense into me?” he snarls.

But Zayn snaps, reaches down and slaps the upper part of Liam’s thigh. He hits quite hard too, red marring the skin. “I’m not above turning you around and pressing your face into the bed so I can fuck you like you’re my bitch,” he says. “It’s the one thing I ask.” To make up for his anger, Zayn reaches around to finally touch Liam.

And again, maybe, possibly, Liam forgives him. Zayn’s hand is thick and warm, and it brings such a relief to finally have that extra touch around him. “I mean it, Liam.”

“Yeah,” he whispers back, but they both know he’s not paying attention, especially as Zayn grips him tightly enough to jerk him off in time with his hips, steadily growing at a quicker pace than what he started at with. “Zayn, _fuck_.”

“Alright, babe.” So Zayn gives himself better leverage by leaning down and pressing his face into the crook of Liam’s neck, moving his hips and his hand, thumb eventually working its way over the slit of Liam’s cock. There’s a load of pre-cum bubbling out by now, dripping and making a mess, and Zayn plays with it until Liam’s a right mess of incoherent words, breathing out whispers of _Zayn_ and _good, s’good, yes_.

Which means Zayn knows he has him for now, has him for these next few minutes and however long Liam decides to let him stick around, and that’s good enough for him.

Eventually, and with Liam turning his head to find Zayn staring at him with an emotion he can’t quite place, he cums, tips over the edge. His mouth falls open, eyes closing while a low, filthy moan escapes from the confines of Liam’s throat. He stills, back arching up off the bed with Zayn continuing to work himself into Liam, helping him through his orgasm.

And it’s quite peaceful the way that Liam’s hair is now matted to his forehead, chest heavy with the way he tries to find the air to breathe again, insides tightening up and causing Zayn to bite at his lower lip and spill over into Liam with his own release crashing over him.

In the end, Zayn ends up on top of Liam, but they both don’t mind. They only lay there, Zayn eventually pulling out of Liam in time to see his eyelids droop, turning over onto his side and burying his face into a pillow. Liam wonders how he looks, completely different than the strictly poised man he’d tried to be these past few weeks, but it doesn’t matter, especially when he doesn’t feel Zayn next to him right away.

Instead, Zayn’s sitting up, knees drawn close to his chest and arms wrapped around them. He could be thinking, Liam doesn’t know for sure until he decides to forgo his sleepiness in favor of sitting up and resting his head on Zayn’s shoulder. He winces because he feels a bit gross, sticky with cum and sweat, but he pushes it aside because Zayn’s more important. “What’sa matter?” he asks lazily, breathing in Zayn’s scent, still distinctly that of cologne and cigarettes.

Zayn tilts his head and angles it just so, so that he can glance at Liam without going dizzy. “You want more than I can give.”

Liam ends up with a hand on Zayn’s back, pads of his fingers brushing against the cooling skin. “Thinking ahead, are you?”

But Zayn frowns and looks distraught that Liam’s not taking him seriously. Liam expects him to scold him, be harsh and revert to boldness, but Zayn doesn’t. He surprises Liam by drawing his brows together. “Protection, Liam,” he says. “I can’t give you what you want, their freedom, their lives,” he pauses, lets what he’s talking about sink down into Liam’s ears before he continues, “especially when it torments the very sanctity of this gang, when it threatens _you_.” His voice sounds so light, so full of a reassurance that Liam will get it, and somewhere maybe he does, but Liam’s not sure if he buys it, not sure if he can or even wants to just yet. He’s laying in bed with a criminal who’s trying to _finally_ tell him that he hears Liam’s opposition quite well but still isn’t able to do a damn thing about it. “I’m giving you the next best thing. There’s not much I can offer in life; I can’t promise the future, and I can’t give you stability, but this is the one thing I have, that I’ve worked hard for.”

“Zayn,” Liam starts. “You can do it, just without so much blood on your hands.” He shrugs, pulls his hand up and brushes it through the back of Zayn’s hair. “Besides, I thought you swore to look after me-”

“No,” Zayn interrupts, tone harsh but eyes pleading forgiveness. “No, that’s different. _Then_ was a fulfillment out of duty, and _now_ it doesn’t have to be.”

Liam draws back, just not enough to completely pull away from the other lad. “What are you suggesting?” And Liam knows, of course he does. It’s Zayn implying what he’s been after the entire time and what Liam had figured out before they even got into bed. This - Zayn asking - is only his confirmation, along with Harry’s little bouts of knowledge of the truth.

“If you’re with me,” Zayn drawls, “you’re going to have to let me do what I do best, and when I come back, it’ll be _me_ here with you.”

Thoughts swirl around in Liam’s mind, and he glances away from Zayn for a brief moment to the bookshelf. “Like a trophy wife.” He feels Zayn physically startle next to him, which regains his attention.

“That’s not even remotely-”

“But it is, isn’t it?” Liam gives a far-off kind of smile. “You want me to stand back while you do your work, come home and ignore it all with a smile on my face like I’ve no clue what you do, like I don’t _care_ what you do, just as long as I have you here or in my bed?”

Zayn doesn’t look guilty, and his careless shrug has Liam removing himself completely from his side.

“And to think-”

“Think what?” Zayn says bitterly, leaning over to grab Liam’s hand before he can decide he wants off the bed. “Think you could _change_ me, Liam?”

But he shakes his head, “No.”

Zayn raises up his brows in mock-surprise. “Then what do you want from me?” He’s sharp, lips thinned and straight as he disregards any of his previous emotions, as if Liam moving away from him was the deciding factor into completely shutting down.

“I-” Liam starts, but he has to stop because it’s then that he doesn’t know. He’s not even sure what he’s been after. With Zayn and the arguments it’d always been about proving he wasn’t someone to push around, that Zayn wasn’t gonna get to him so easily. But now as he stares at the gang leader with his jaw clenched and hand wrapped tightly around his wrist, he wonders what the ultimate reason all of this is for. “I don’t know,” he admits.

And Zayn lets out a bitter, humorless laugh before he’s shoving Liam down onto the bed, hand on his chest and eyes drawn tight. He licks the front of his teeth, leaning down ever so slowly as if to draw out his answer and make it more dramatic than it really has to be. “I’d tell you to fuck off, but then again we already had a bit of fun, didn’t we?” The side of his mouth quirks up when he notices Liam face harden. “But something tells me you don’t even know what you’re playing at, never knew, and you didn’t think you’d come into all of this with a change of heart, now did you?”

Liam tries to shove Zayn off of him, wrestle him so that he’s on top, but it doesn’t happen as Zayn forcefully keeps him down. He tsks, “I think it’s about time you start figuring yourself out first before we decide what my future actions should be.”

He’s got a point, he does, but Liam’s not going to admit that. Especially when Zayn leans down to place a kiss on his lips. Liam’s angry, can feel it all throughout his muscles, the way their taut and tight, but Zayn doesn’t give up. “C’mon, Liam. You can’t admit that this is all on me.”

Somewhere and somehow, Liam eventually finds the strength to flip them over. It comes as a surprise to Zayn as Liam manhandles him into a position where Zayn can’t move. He can see the tension rising, knowing Zayn doesn’t like to be bound, but then Liam’s the one smirking, the one who has the upper hand for the time being. “Of course not,” he admits, leaning down close to Zayn as he’d done before. “Then again I _am_ the one you just fucked, made _you_ come apart. When I said you weren’t the one with all the control, I meant it, and it seems to me like you’re too neurotic to agree.”

Just as Liam had been agitated with the weight of Zayn on his body, it’s as clear as day that Zayn doesn’t appreciate it either. So Liam grins and finally relents despite the pounding of his heart in his chest. Because again, Zayn’s right, and whatever Liam had thought - with the encouragement of Harry, no doubt  - he’d be able to do, work with Zayn and find some other possible solution to his steady streak of violence, it’s not going to happen and not anytime soon either.

Liam’s going to have some choices to make because he’s already let Zayn get the best of him tonight. He doesn’t mind, not afraid to admit his weakness because Zayn succumbed to his own, and whether Liam’s willing to let this continue on or not, he’s not sure.

So instead of thinking about it any further, he lets go of Zayn and settles into his side, feels the way a tanned arm wraps around his torso to hold him tightly. Liam’s a mess, feeling filthy and definitely wanting a shower, but with the way he finds a place against Zayn, and the way Zayn himself rests his cheek against Liam’s forehead, he knows he won’t be moving anywhere anytime soon.

+

It’s, well, it’s something else entirely going on between them. It’s like a dance now rather than a game, with Zayn not being extremely subtle in his ways of showing affection. Sometimes it puts Liam off, especially when other people are around, but as soon as Zayn slides an arm around his waist, he relaxes and figures he can handle the various glances they receive.

Whether Zayn’s said anything to his gang, Liam doesn’t know, but it’s obvious by the way that some of them smirk - and by the way Harry just smiles brightly at Liam anytime Zayn enters the room - it hasn’t taken long for everyone to piece together the bigger picture. And it’s not like Liam minds either; sometimes he does given he’d rather keep any kind of pda on the down low, not wanting to flaunt it or give himself a reason to be embarrassed.

But Zayn’s far from that, Liam’s noticed. He’s neither ashamed nor worried about possible teasing, and Liam chalks it up to him actually threatening someone lest they cross the line, or he’s just nonchalant about the fact that he’s in a relationship.

Or something like that. Liam knows they haven’t defined it, and he’s not willing to ask because he likes it when he’s in bed, almost asleep when he feels another body slide up against his, tucking an arm around Liam’s waist while burying their face into his neck. It brings him comfort, and while Liam’s thought about the reason why he likes Zayn’s touch so much, he figures some of it has to do with not having human contact like before. It’s something he’s been deprived of here, save the various touches from Harry or the purposeful antics of Zayn just trying to make him nervous.

Overall, Liam’s decently happy. He still has minor arguments with himself about whether this makes him a traitor to his own character, but he’s come to the conclusion that it’s best to just not think about it. It goes against his instincts to be aware and concerned, but he lets himself fall, so slowly, to the point where he’s not sure where he’s going to end up in all of this.

He thought he knew before, but now everything’s up in the air.

“Bet Zayn’s glad to have his room back.”

Liam startles, almost dropping the glass in his hand. He sets it down, allows himself to breath before he turns back around to look at Harry. He’s leaning up against the back of the bar, both arms and legs crossed.

“What?” Liam says dumbly. His minds a little slow today, zoned out from his busy mind.

“Zayn,” Harry starts, “the guy you’re fucking. Remember him?”

Liam blushes and ducks his head, makes a point not to look Harry in the eye. “Your point?”

“I said I bet he’s glad to have his room back.”

And despite Liam’s reserved nature, not wanting Harry to add any further commentary on his business, especially when it involves Zayn, he glances up sharply, lips pursed. “ _What?_ ”

Harry huffs and shakes his head. “Do I need to repeat myself again?” But he smirks and betrays the fact that he’s not impatient with Liam. “So I guess he didn’t tell you about that then, did he?”

Liam’s mouth opens and closes like a goddamn fish, and maybe it’s because he just doesn’t have a response, or it’s the fact that he’s been overthinking everything lately. Regardless, he’s spared by the sound of his name being called from across the way.

Zayn’s standing in the doorway of his office. People in the room ignore him, but Harry gives Liam a little shove when all he does is stare.

“Go,” he whispers, and he’s trying to look serious, but it’s failing so much because he looks like a fucking cat who caught the mouse, green eyes big with a wide smile on his face. “Probably wants to _talk_.”

There’s no reason for Liam to blush, but he can’t help it. Despite this, Harry gives him another shove before Liam’s finally able to get his legs to work so he doesn’t fall flat on his face. He makes his way over to Zayn, who pulls back to allow Liam into the room before the door shuts behind him. “Yeah?” he’s says, able to get it out of his mouth without sounding nervous.

“Needed to tell you something.” Zayn passes by him, aims to go sit in his desk chair, and so Liam thinks it’s only fair to do the same, to take a seat opposite the desk so he and his, well, _fling_ can discuss whatever it is that’s so important.

However, just as Liam goes to take a seat, a noise of protests emits from Zayn, leaving Liam startled once again. Zayn’s got an eyebrow crooked, elbow resting on the chair’s armrest and a finger telling him to come hither. Liam does nothing but narrow his eyes until Zayn mirrors his expression which only has Liam relenting reluctantly. “What do you need, Zayn?”

As soon as he’s close enough, Liam finds that Zayn reaches out for him, guiding him forward and prompting him to sit on his lap. Without saying anything, Liam becomes a little difficult, shaking his head and wanting to move back over to the chair he was going to sit in. But Zayn’s a stubborn bastard and before Liam knows it, Zayn’s got a hold on the waistband of his jeans, tugging him down until he’s able to press his mouth against Liam’s neck. “Sit,” he says sternly.

It’s not uncomfortable, per say, but Liam stays rigid until Zayn wraps an arm around Liam’s waist, leaning back in his chair and probably expecting Liam to do the same. He doesn’t.

“I’m going to take you out.”

Liam stays silent, lets that sentence run through his brain before he shifts on Zayn’s lap, very aware that this is not the ideal seating arrangement anyone should be having in an open area, where anyone could walk through that door. And sure, it looks innocent, but Liam’s quit sure it won’t be long now before Zayn gets handsy, and, well, hard.

“You’re going to what?” Because taking someone out is a very interesting phrase. Does that mean both he and Liam are gonna go somewhere, or is this more along the lines of putting Liam out of his misery? (He’s sleeping with a gang leader, is in a gang - which he doesn’t like to admit to himself, but he might as well because it’s beginning to look an awful lot like home rather than somewhere to crash - and their motto is either to fuck people up with their hands or _take them out_. Liam should have more faith. He does, to an extent).

What comes next surprises Liam again. Zayn’s face is schooled into neutrality, but then it breaks out into a wide smile, teeth pushed behind tongue and something Liam doesn’t think he’s ever witnessed first hand. It’s genuine, and Liam knows his entire face falls with Zayn leans his head back against the chair, closing his eyes while letting out little wisps of happiness that Liam hadn’t thought he was capable of.

“Don’t look so scared, _Leeyum_ ,” Zayn says as soon as opens his eyes again. They sparkle, and Liam knows he’s witnessing a rarity. Just the fact that he was able to make it happen too, makes his stomach twist. “You won’t have to sell drugs anymore.”

Shoulders slumping, Liam lets out a breath. “Oh.”

“What’d you think I meant?” He tilts his head slightly, eyeing Liam with interest.

“N-nothing,” Liam answers, biting at his lower lip.

And Zayn must take it a certain way because his face softens. “You want me to take you out,” Zayn explains, realization washing over him. “Like on a proper date.”

So Liam scrunches up his face and shakes his head. “No, no. Forget I said anything.” While it hadn’t meant to come across as harsh, the look on Zayn’s face says it all, and Liam feels terrible. “That’s a lovely idea!” he reassures. “But that’s not what I, uh, thought.”

When Zayn looks at him warily, Liam’s forced to finally admit his frame of mind, and he does so by bringing his hand up closer to his neck and making a brief slashing motion. He feels mildly guilty that his thoughts had wandered straight to the extreme, his ears becoming hot with embarrassment as Zayn lets out a deep laugh.

“Liam,” he calls softly, sitting forward. His lips make contact with Liam’s skin again, only this time it’s behind his ear, breath ghosting against it. “Why would I do such a thing?” he asks, pausing, and although Liam can’t see Zayn’s face, he knows he’s trying to keep the smile hidden within his words. “Especially since I enjoy fucking you so much?”

Liam whines, mainly coming from the fact that Zayn surprises him by nipping at his ear and trailing his hands down Liam’s waist, curling into the fabric of his clothes.

It happens so abruptly but is soon interrupted by a knock on the door. And when that door opens, and there’s suddenly a leather jacket and a body present, Liam has the instinct to scramble his way out of Zayn’s lap.

However, that doesn’t transpire, not when Zayn’s right there, securing his arm around Liam’s waist and looking none too pleased with the sudden interruption. “What?” he asks harshly.

Liam keeps his head down, not bothered to look at their guest. He feels like he’s on fire, and it doesn’t help with the way the palm of Zayn’s hand rubs lightly against his stomach.

“Uh,” a voice rings out. “Thought it was about time we had a look at what you said you needed to take care of today.”

Cryptic as it may be, Liam knows it’s phrased the way it is on purpose. When he looks up, he notices the other lad across the desk, how he’s fidgeting and the way his eyes dart from Liam’s presence and back to Zayn’s.

“Right,” Zayn drawls. “Go ahead. I’ll meet you there.” A curt nod comes from him next, dismissing the presence of the third party, and just as he gets to the door, Zayn clicks his tongue. “Shut it and don’t come in here again.”

Liam feels more than sees Zayn relax back into his seat. The mood has shifted, and now it just seems awkward, and he’s more aware than before that he’s still sitting in Zayn’s lap. “You should go,” he whispers.

“I’ve got a couple of minutes,” Zayn responds quickly, tugging Liam back so that he’s laying halfway on Zayn’s chest. “How about I spend those few minutes wisely?”

Liam turns his head quickly. “Oh? What do you have in mind?”

And that’s when Zayn gives him a wicked smirk. “Relax, Liam.”

He feels Zayn’s hands roaming carefully under his shirt. They’re against the waistband of both his jeans, fingers tucking themselves under the material teasingly. “Can I?” Zayn asks softly.

Liam’s lower lip finds it’s way into his mouth, teeth nibbling on it. Zayn watches him as he does so, fingers still smoothing over Liam’s skin. “Shouldn’t,” Liam murmurs. “Someone might come in.” And it’s tempting, it is. Zayn’s hands stay where they are, but they’re _so close_ , and when he shifts on the seat in order to try and pull Zayn’s fingers off of him, it’s then he finally feels how hard Zayn is.

“They won’t. Told ‘em not to.” That grin is still on Zayn’s face, eyes challenging more than they are pleading as he waits for Liam to finally settle down his worry. Liam’s eyes flicker back over to the door briefly, still briefly paranoid that this isn’t the place or the time to actually be doing anything remotely sexual, but then Zayn’s at his ear again, and Liam, well, he’s human, and his cock is stirring…

So he relents, and he says a quick _yes_ before his jeans are undone, and Zayn’s hand is underneath his boxers, wrapping around his cock quickly enough. Liam thinks, for just a moment, that maybe he should be helping Zayn out too, and when he tries, not wanting to be selfish and still learning how the other lad ticks, Zayn grabs his hand and shakes his head lightly. “S’for you, babe. Want you to stop thinking so much.”

Zayn tightens his grip on Liam’s member with his words, and he’s got to resist the urge to actually thrust upwards. He’s settled quite nicely against Zayn, can feel his chest pressing into his back, but there’s no doubt that he could go sliding off.

Both his boxers and his trousers and pulled down far enough so that Liam’s dick is released, already plump and covered by Zayn’s fingers as he slowly works Liam over. Alongside his movements, he keeps his chin hooked over Liam’s shoulder, close enough so that he can see what he’s doing while also having access to Liam’s neck, a favorite spot of his, Liam’s come to learn.

“Wanna know somethin’?” Zayn whispers. He takes Liam slowly, draws out his pumping for Liam to agonize over. “First time I saw you, you were laying in that hospital bed, so pale and _small_.”

Liam sucks in a breath more so from Zayn’s story than actual pleasure, although it’s getting harder to concentrate the more Zayn takes his time.

“Niall asked me to look out for you because he couldn’t do it himself. I laughed at him at first,” Zayn dips his head down to press a kiss against Liam’s shoulder despite it still being covered by a cotton shirt. “And then I saw you and knew what he meant when he said no one should ever hurt someone like you.”

Liam struggles to hold on, finding it difficult to curl his fingers into anything to keep himself stable. So he reaches over for the other armrest. It’s too wide for his entire hand to curl around, but it works for the time being as he slowly lets his hips rise and fall in time to Zayn’s movements. “W-what then?” Liam sighs, head falling back to expose more of his neck, much to Zayn’s delight.

“Would’ve sent meself to lookout for you if I had the time, so I made Harry do it, told him it was important.”

“Should I be creeped out or flattered?”

Zayn chuckles. “Considering the fact that I make you feel this good,” his hand slips up towards the tip, carefully pulling back the foreskin before Zayn’s thumb nudges the slit, “maybe the latter?”

Even biting at his lip doesn’t stop the moan that escapes Liam’s mouth. He realizes he can’t be too loud, especially if there are people in the other room, but Zayn’s probably wanting to hear him, wants to know that he can make Liam pant for more. “You’re arrogant.”

But it’s not an insult like maybe it should be because Liam’s too focused on Zayn and how his hand feels, how he massages the pre-cum down his length in order to have an easier time jerking him off. And the little mewls of satisfaction prove that Liam’s in a state that anything he says isn’t entirely thought out.

“No,” Zayn says quietly. He turns his head just the slightest bit, mouth directly upon the side of Liam’s neck, “I just knew I had to have you.”

Liam feels the way Zayn’s words align against his skin, warm and heavy as a tongue darts out to taste him. It doesn’t take long for Zayn to finish, moving on to little nips and sucking that will surely leave a rather significant bruise, marking Liam in a way that sends a bout of thrill down his spine.

“Zayn,” Liam gasps, jaw clenching at the growing feeling of his orgasm.

Zayn only hushes him, hums before whispering, “C’mon, Liam. Almost there, lovely.” The gang member withdraws his mouth quickly after that, wanting Liam’s lips against his own. “Say my name again, won’t you?”

His skin is flushed, and Liam whimpers when Zayn’s gives a light squeeze. “ _Zayn_ ,” he whines, knowing that if he doesn’t Zayn’s sure to prolong his experience. The other lad picks up a bit of speed, leaving them both to hear the sound of Liam’s voice as he lets out a litany of curses, Zayn’s name certainly intertwined and mangled with it.

Liam gives in, lets the arm around his waist hold him down as Zayn continues to stroke him through his orgasm. He comes apart, a nice warmness settling into his bones, spunk comfortably covering his skin as well as Zayn’s hand.

When he gets too sensitive, he gently bats Zayn’s hand away, feeling a bit like jelly and not willing to move except for closing his eyes and sighing.

“Gonna have to leave soon.”

Liam scrunches up his face, but gives into the inevitable. “Yeah, alright.” He quickly tucks himself back into his jeans before he stands up, well aware that there’s still a mess on his stomach, the rest of his spunk in Zayn’s hand (who conveniently wipes it off on a napkin without offering one to Liam).

Zayn follows him straight after, a crooked smile pressed gently onto plump lips. “I’ll see you soon.”

And Liam just nods before he’s slipping away from the other lad. Once he gets to the door, he hesitates, hand dropping away from the knob for two reasons. One, he wonders if anyone heard them, not quite sure how much the wall actually absorbs the sounds of low voices. And two, he suddenly remembers Harry’s statement from before that has him pausing and turning around. “Zayn?”

He’s met with a hum and a pair of lazy eyes that blink up at him. “Yeah?”

“You didn’t have to, you know,” Liam says carefully, watching the way that Zayn completely draws his attention away from what’s on his desk to give it all to Liam. “Give me your room, I mean. I could’ve, I dunno, taken the couch or something.” He lips his lips out of nervousness, sure that Zayn might snap at him for such a ridiculous statement.

But he doesn’t, instead Zayn shakes his head and waves him off. “Couldn’t have a pretty thing like you in a sour mood because of sleeping arrangements. You were already angry enough over your situation. Wouldn’t’ve been fair.” And he leaves it at that, going no further to explain his choices because what’s done is done, and Zayn’s already accepted his actions weeks ago.

So Liam takes another minute or so to work up the courage to finally say, “Thank you.” He swallows down the urge to ramble, but he doesn’t, quite liking the way that Zayn tenses up and isn’t sure how to receive his praise.

Liam lets him be after that, just ducks his head and turns to finally exit the room without another word from Zayn. Maybe they’ll have a conversation tonight, or maybe they won’t, but all that’s on Liam’s mind as he exits the room is the way that Harry, who’d obviously taken over his bar duties, sends him a cheeky grin that has Liam flushing from head to toe. Instead of sticking around, Liam opts to duck away into the back, figuring it best to take a shower to get rid of any evidence and smell that might suggest that Zayn and he hadn’t been so innocent.

+

Zayn has a way about him that makes Liam forget. He’s a little bit drunk on the idea of them being together, but he always feels the way his stomach knots to various degrees at the change that has suddenly taken place.

Typically Liam wakes up in bed with Zayn there, a warm body pressed against him close. He tries not to tell himself to care too much; especially considering Liam feels like he’s having a moral crisis. But more often than not, Liam wakes up earlier than Zayn, where he’s tucked into the crook of his arm, where he can easily study the other lad.

It’s common to say that someone looks peaceful when asleep; their body is no longer working the same way as it is when it’s awake. There’s no thinking, no real consciousness. It’s a completely different state of being, where Zayn’s features are smoothed out, eyelashes fanned across the top of his cheekbones, so long and black. His hair is usually disheveled, lying softly against his forehead, and Liam swears he’s seeing something Zayn was long before who he is now. It makes him think all different kinds of thoughts, wonders if it’s a good idea to ask Zayn if he has a family, and if so, where they might be, wants to ask him who he’d been in the past and who he might be in the future.

And all of this causes Liam to think about himself and where he’s going to end up. Sometimes it’s like he’s playing dollhouse, a fantasy little world where everything is okay because Zayn (or Harry, really) says it will be. And Liam’s not necessarily trying to be pessimistic, but the less than favorable outcomes outweigh any possible good. It sounds like he’s unhappy, and Liam probably still needs to figure that out because staying here with Zayn isn’t a good idea, but it kind of is when he makes Liam feel like this, a jolt of emotions he didn’t know existed until Zayn decided to go for it. Beforehand it’d been about, well, Liam’s not quite sure what, exactly, it had been about. Maybe proving his strength so he wouldn’t look weak? Or maybe he really did have something against Zayn and decided the only remedy had been to act like an ass?

Still though, there’s a gap within his soul and a tug at his heart, something so harsh that it’s nagging him and won’t leave him the fuck alone. If only he could pinpoint what it is he’s trying to grasp.

This morning is different though. Liam’s alone in bed, the other side holding a small dip and a chill where Zayn’s body had been. There’s no way to tell how long he’s been gone, but Liam feels somewhat glad he hadn’t been woken up. Zayn’s been stressed lately and the few words he’d given to Liam about things not being so perfect, well, they rattle through his brain as of late. Liam can literally see the tension that resides in Zayn’s shoulders, in his jawline. He won’t speak a word to Liam about it, and Liam’s so close to actually snapping at him, wanting to know what the fuck is taking place.

Even Harry looks more than a little grim, and that in itself is worrisome. Liam doesn’t think he’s ever seen Harry’s mood differ except from his cheery self, too pissed off, nothing in between the two extremes.

Which is why when Liam gets up and gets dressed, he decides to take his mind off of everything by doing what he’s been doing the past couple of weeks.

He finds Harry at the bar, dishrag in hand and going over the countertop to rub it clean like his life depends on the fact that it needs to be so completely spotless.

“If you keep going in circles like that, you’re going to end up with a hole.”

Harry stills, fingers clenching the cloth. His knuckles are extremely white when Liam approaches him, so he keeps his distance out of respect.

“Everything okay?” Liam’s face softens with sincerity and concern. Harry looks more than tense, face set in a frown and eyes hard with an emotion so unreadable it has Liam feeling a heavy weight settle in his chest.

In response, Harry only backs away from the counter, tossing the towel into the makeshift sink. He leans forward, hands gripping onto the edge of the bar. “Zayn wants you back out at the Range.”

Liam’s only reaction is to nod once with Harry seeing out of the corner of his eye. “What for?”

“You’re supposed to practice,” he says.

There’s a pause, Liam not quite sure if the other lad is going to go ahead and say something. So when he doesn’t, Liam scratches at the back of his neck and reluctantly decides to continue on with his questions if Harry isn’t going to be forthcoming. “Are you upset about that?”

The words grab Harry’s attention, and when he turns to look at Liam, there’s not an ounce of happiness or the cheerfulness that Liam’s been accustomed to. “No,” he replies. “I’m concerned with what happens _after_.”

To which Liam narrows his eyes and tilts his head. “So _now_ you’re worried? You’re the one giving mixed signals here. Tell me one thing, and then another. You’re scared that I’ll be able to shoot a gun?”

Harry lets his head fall forward, pinching the bridge of his nose and breathing slowly. “There’s no point in arguing, and that’s not even remotely what this is about.” He rights himself, closing the distance between himself and Liam. “Before it was about safety, loyalty and balance. This time, it’s much more than that.”

Those green eyes shine brightly, and they hold so much info. So when Liam’s able to look there and find that the nothingness of before has been replaced by something much bigger, Liam draws back. “You know something.”

“Of course. I know lots of things.”

Liam snorts. “You’re keeping it from me though. And after all this with Zayn, I thought-”

“Liam,” Harry growls, effectively shutting him up. “Now is not the time. I don’t know what Zayn tells you. Knowing him, probably nothing,” he waves a hand of dismissal, “but things have slowly begun changing. This hasn’t a thing to do with you, but in retrospect it does. There are too many coincidences for it to be anything else.”

A smile makes its way across Liam’s lip, but it’s full of sarcasm. “I know where this is going.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, folding his arms over his chest. “I think Zayn was planning on telling you. I don’t know for sure, but I’ll go ahead and do it myself.” The pause that presents itself is full of strain and reluctance and possibly a bit of sadness too. Harry’s chest rises and falls in even motions, careful not to startle or rile up his already pent up frustrations. “Regardless of us making a deal on your behalf, we have reason to believe that the Blue Bloods are now trying to scope us out. They’re doing it to gain leverage, taking away little pieces before they have enough to strike.”

Liam chews on his tongue, almost biting down on it hard enough to draw blood. “So they’re going to attack? Is that what you’re saying?” He falls back against the counter, hip connecting with the side of the marble, sending a pang of hurt down his thigh. “They’re after me.” Which isn’t a question by all means. Liam knows he’s the reason a score is not settled, and while Zayn and Harry had both reassured him that money was flowing to the right places, it only seems plausible that the other gang would find offence and want to take matters in their own hands. By giving the Blue Bloods money, it means the Zayn and his crew have power. They’re in control regardless of the ones being in debt. It would be easy to form a plan of action behind the backs of an agreement by both parties, but while Liam thinks it’s plausible Zayn could’ve accounted for something that sinister, he ultimately wouldn’t, wanting peace more than anything considering business is good.

But Harry rapidly shakes his head, hair almost falling in front of his eyes as he does so. “We don’t know that, and that’s why Zayn’s getting antsy. You said something to him that got him thinking, so he decided to pay closer attention and refrain from looking the other way when shit happened. Rather than someone below his rank handle it all, he’s doing it himself.”

Which, as convincing and helpful as Harry is trying to be, it doesn’t really work to the full extent he was possibly hoping for. See, Liam’s learned slowly that things can’t just be taken at face value, that there’s probably more meaning to words, manipulated to sound one way rather than another. All in all, it’s fine; it works only on those who can’t tell the difference. But Liam realizes the act of placating someone, and if Zayn had taken precaution before, this only means that something’s riled up his feathers again.

“Just,” Liam sighs, shoulders dropping. “I’ll go. If it’s what he wants, I’ll go.”

Harry licks the front of his teeth and nods, looking slightly impressed. “He must be fucking you real good if you’re going without objecting.”

Liam coughs, brown eyes widening. He thinks he might just smack him upside the head, but Harry backs away slowly while snickering.

“ _Harry_ ,” he hisses.

“Well,” he starts. “I had to make the mood light, didn’t I? Guess now’s a good time to tell you that the boys would like to thank you.” Harry’s green eyes look so shiny and immaculate regardless of the dirt coming out of his mouth.

And even though Liam hadn’t been all smiles before, mouth set into a thin line at Harry’s worry, it’s certainly turning into a steady frown. He wouldn’t be surprised if his face stuck like this one of these days with the amount of disapproval he holds. “What is that supposed to mean?”

A cheeky little grin covers Harry’s face; he looks a bit dopey. “Zayn’s getting laid.”

“Your point?”

“Don’t be daft,” Harry reprimands. “He may be a bitch when it comes to his job, but one plus one equals two, Liam. You fuck him, and that’s a guaranteed win for us. He’s _nice_ to those he loves, and merciless to anyone who threatens it.”

Liam ends up sucking on the inside of his cheek while a nice flush of color paints his cheeks. “I can’t believe we’re talking about this.”

“We’re not. I am, but hey, wouldn’t be objected if you did.”

With that, Liam ducks his head, entire face heating up while he hears Harry cackle and take off to another part of the room.

“We’re leaving in an hour. Car should be here by then.”

Harry disappears directly afterwards, before Liam can gather himself and think of a witty response to return. In the meantime, he tries to busy himself with thoughts of encouragement on his behalf.

+

By the time they get to the Range, it’s nearly half past three. It’s not too hot, otherwise Liam would’ve taken the leather jacket off, but it holds in the warmth of the sun, leaving him protected and easy. He scopes out the field of grass, notices how there’s a good number of people there. Some of them he knows are members of the Forty Thieves and the others he’s not able to recognize. However, they do notice his presence. Harry has to nudge him along, ordered to bring Liam directly to Zayn once they arrived, but that hasn’t stopped the curious stares and various looks. Whether they’re out of disapproval or appraisal, Liam doesn’t know and truly doesn’t care to find out.

They find Zayn sitting on a wooden picnic table, his feet are firm against the bench. He’s not eye level with the people standing around him, but the way he’s folded over, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together while his eyes are sharp, it’s not hard to tell that he has everyone’s attention anyway. His leather jacket holds a stark contrast against his skin. The few necklaces he’s decided to grace hang at an angle, swinging softly with every movement makes.

He’s in the middle of a conversation, a smile on his lips and a light in his eyes that Liam hasn’t really seen the past couple of days. It doesn’t make him worry; it’s more along the lines of his body sighing in relief that he’s not going to be an ass to everyone but Liam. He hasn’t truly gotten a chance to see how Zayn acts with the members of his gang. There are only been a few occasions, but nothing so casual with this. What makes it different too is the fact that Liam hadn’t been around the dynamic before (save for that god-awful party) Zayn was with him. So whether they’re putting on their best behavior is up for debate. They all seem genuine enough, but that’s only if one doesn’t look into their criminal history.

“My dear, Zayn,” Harry begins, seeing as he’s ahead of Liam and leading them over to the conversation at hand. “I brought you a gift.” In an effort to embarrass Liam, because he knows that’s exactly what Harry’s trying to do (possibly making up for the way Liam had found him earlier, all brooding and tense), he stops just a few feet away from Zayn and bows smoothly.

Surely Zayn would’ve noticed Liam beforehand, but apparently he didn’t because after he pulls back his lips to smile at the dork he calls a friend, he blinks up to find Liam there waiting. “ _Leeyum_ ,” he delivers, a trill he’s customized for pure affection. His expression grows, fondness seeping through every core, and Liam - damnit all to hell - loses the sound of his heart as it beats wildly at the call of his name. “C’mere.” The gang leader ends up gesturing with his hand, waving Liam over despite his company and the interruption they’d caused.

But Liam doesn’t say anything, nor does he shake his head because he knows better than to deny Zayn in front of company, knows Zayn would only frown at him before standing up and leading Liam over to the table himself. It’d be more humiliating for Liam than it would be for Zayn, so he sucks it up, passes by the unfamiliar faces and settles himself on the bench in between Zayn’s legs. Immediately the man’s arms encircle him, Zayn drawing Liam in close. His ear is met with the ghost of lips, breath hot against his skin.

Liam finds it difficult not to blush, especially with the way Harry’s grinning like an idiot, and no one else thinks it’s awkward that Zayn’s being open. “You’re a very nice gift,” he whispers, sending a nice shiver down Liam’s spine. If his cheeks weren’t already unbearably red, he knows that with the way Zayn’s acting, nuzzling into Liam like he is, they would be now.

“Stop it,” Liam tries. It’s weak in effort, shoulder tilting up in order to try and block Zayn from his attempts at getting too cozy. “ _Zayn_ , people.”

A small bubble of laughter emits from Zayn’s throat, deep and full. He ends up pulling away from Liam, although still keeping his arms around the other man. “Of course,” he starts. “We were just finishing up, weren’t we, boys?”

There is no silence in between Zayn’s words and the way the few men around them nod their heads, some going as far as confirming what their leader said with a _yes_. “Sure, boss.”

Zayn clicks his tongue in disapproval at the nickname, Liam knowing that there’s probably a frown embedded deep onto his face. So because Liam can’t see anything other than what’s in front of him, he softly nudges Zayn’s leg with his elbow. It earns him a squeeze from Zayn’s arms, them tightening around Liam’s upper body before they relax again.

“Just remember what I told you, Dee. I can’t have you running a bad batch, not on my corners.”

Again, everyone nods before Liam sees Zayn waves a hand in dismissal. Harry’s the only one that doesn’t leave, too preoccupied with god-knows-what going through his thoughts. “If you wanna get to it…” Harry nods in the direction of the large field, where Liam had stood only but a couple of weeks ago to shoot off the gun he’d been given.

However, he’s not quite sure what happened to it, especially after he’d gotten angry with Zayn and had stormed off. He hasn’t bothered to think about it since. Zayn had taken him off the streets too, completely kept that promise. So Liam was left back at the club with nothing to do but read and clean and occasionally have sex with Zayn (or a lot; he hasn’t exactly kept track of what all they do). In between all of those activities, it’s no wonder it’d slipped his mind.

He sighs. “Do I have to do this?”

“Don’t tell me you’re nervous?” Zayn leans down and presses soft, wet lips against Liam’s cheek. It’s an awkward angle for Liam to stare over at the other lad, so he pulls back far enough to glance at him.

“You’re giving me a potential murder weapon,” Liam deadpans.

Zayn chances a glance up at Harry before he withdraws himself from Liam completely. He ends up in front of Liam, kneeling down in front of him as if he were a child. It’s slightly patronizing regardless of the fact that Zayn hasn’t even said anything, and more than anything, Liam wants to scoff.

“Do you have someone on your shit list you’ve been thinking about killing?” Zayn asks, very straightforward.

Liam shakes his head, glancing down when he feels Zayn take his hands in his.

“So you don’t plan on hurting anyone?”

“No,” Liam replies. “I’d rather not use it at all.”

Zayn tilts his head. “Look, it’s not a murder weapon unless there’s a body. You can be scared, Liam, but don’t make comments like that unless you really mean them.”

If he had the guts to do it, Liam would probably push Zayn over into the grass and leave. He’s been direct before, but never this close to his reality, and Liam doesn’t know how to take that, whether it’s a good thing that Zayn’s somewhat letting him in, or if Zayn considers Liam one of them.

“I’m sorry,” he says just as Zayn stands up. He pulls Liam along with him, hands slipping around his waist to pull him close.

“Don’t be,” he smiles. “Apologize only if I end up angry at you.”

There’s a snort of laughter off to the side, Harry ducking his head and turning away from the two of them as he tries to reign in his humor.

“I think Harry’s right though,” Zayn takes a moment to shrug, “I couldn’t stay mad at you no matter how hard I tried.”

Liam sees the dopey grin spread across Zayn’s face before it makes its way up to his eyes. The sun is bearing down on them, flicks of gold and copper highlighting the tan of Zayn’s skin. His tattoos look darker, eyelashes at a length anyone would be jealous of, hair flat and messy on his head. He’s rugged and sinful, yet playful and sincere. “C’mon,” he nods to his right, “let’s go have some fun.”

+

Fun in this neighborhood consists of a very different definition than what Liam’s used to. While Zayn is currently loading his weapon, Liam’s in his hand, fist curled around the base and keeping it aimed at the ground, it’s like a party breaks out around them. There’s a bit of food and definitely beer; Harry’s managed to let loose out in the distance, swinging a golf club in hopes that the white balls will fly to their intended target. Where that is, Liam’s only left to guess.

It’s a very different atmosphere than he’s used to. The club seems a bit hollow and dark, and while it’s beginning to feel like a little more like home than it should, it’s shadowed in dirt, blood and temper, all the makes of a gang high on testosterone and vengeance. It practically seeps through the concrete walls, emitting a low sound of pain.

Out here is definitely different. Everyone seems relaxed and at peace, and Liam partially wonders if that has to do with the fact that Zayn’s not on their ass for something, or if it’s just because they’re finally outside and not having anything else to do besides entertain themselves.

“It’s a nice day,” Zayn says, breaking the silence. “You gonna be able to do this on your own?”

Liam takes his eyes off of the group of people that are out on the Range with them in favor of looking over at Zayn, brows raised. “By myself?”

Zayn shrugs and turns forward to stare at the target on the other side of the field. “Why not? You did it last time.”

“But,” Liam sputters, “you helped too.”

This time Zayn’s the one to turn to Liam, the corner of his mouth twisting upwards. “I see.” He drops his gun carefully onto the ground, makes his way over to Liam and pushes him into position, facing forward, arms stretched out in front of him. The gun sits evenly around his hand, but most of its weight is held up by Zayn’s palm curling around Liam’s. “Either you’re really stupid and didn’t pay attention to anything I said last time,” here Liam makes an indignant noise, but it’s effectively cut off when Zayn pushes the front of himself closer into Liam. He’s got to bite his lip because he knows what this could potentially look like. It hadn’t bothered him much before then because while Zayn had been fairly tame in his advances, now is different because it’s like Zayn’s purposefully trying to get a reaction out of Liam. It’s not really endearing, especially with the way that Liam knows that his fucking flushing again, “or you just like the way the way I feel against your ass.”

Liam ends up elbowing Zayn in the stomach, hard enough that Zayn immediately lets go of Liam to hold onto his stomach instead. And while Liam thinks he should feel slightly guilty for it, Zayn recovers quickly enough, pushing himself up against the other male without warning. “Rough play,” he mutters against Liam’s neck, “I’ll have to remember that.”

He’d elbow him again if he could, but Zayn places a hand there to prevent Liam from moving his arm back. “What’sa matter, Liam?” he coos. “Scared of a little public affection?”

By Zayn’s standards, this is nothing. He’s used to banter and jokes, being open and filthy, but Liam’s not, and as much as he likes it when Zayn decides to make it known that Liam is his, it’s also slightly embarrassing because Liam’s never done this kind of stuff before. He’s never really been in a relationship with someone so out of the box and different. Liam typically goes for cookie-cutter clean because he knows it’s safe, and everything will be okay.

But Zayn’s the complete opposite of that, and that sets Liam on edge as much as it lights a fire within him to let loose, just a little bit. Although he thinks he has a right to reprimand Zayn for being too sexual in public. That’s one bit of privacy Liam’s not willing to give up.

“Would you just shut up,” he snaps. It’s all in good fun, and he knows that Zayn won’t take it badly. “Let’s do this.”

Zayn makes sure to slip both of their earmuffs over their heads before he takes a step away from Liam. He can still feel the other lads presence as he focuses his attention on the target ahead of him, shoulders relaxing, arms pointed straight. He breathes evenly and slowly, not wanting to do this, but every inch of him screams _pull the trigger_ just to feel the rush of adrenaline it gives.

Liam licks his lips, briefly glances as Zayn (only for him to give Liam a nod), before he’s flicking off the safety and pulling the trigger to his gun. There’s a minor recoil, something Liam’s not used to, and because of it, Zayn’s there steadying him, hand on Liam’s lower back as they watch the target eat the bullet.

No doubting Zayn’s lips are soft and pink as they make contact with Liam’s neck, a silent appraisal for his shot. It hadn’t hit the middle or any other area worthy of real damage, but it was a start, something Zayn thinks Liam should be proud of.

So once he’s let another two rounds go, Zayn finally withdraws from Liam to pick up his own weapon. He doesn’t wait for Liam to pay any attention to him - although his back straightens a little more when he feels eyes bore into him, watching - before he’s letting round after round go until the chamber is empty, and he’s got to reload the gun.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” Liam asks, pulling off the protection for his ears. He sounds like he’s slightly in awe, seeing as Zayn had stood there with one hand on the blunt object, releasing the bullets without significant changes to his posture.

“It’s amazing what you can do in your free time without anyone stopping you,” Zayn replies. He lets the gun drop to the ground again, very aware that protocol dictates that he properly store it away rather than leave it be.

However, Liam’s still looking at him, and it’s a good a time as any to speak with him alone. It’s out in the open where Liam won’t make a big scene, if he can help it, where they can have their privacy but also the reassurance from Harry at hand.

“Listen,” Zayn starts, walking closer to the other man he’s addressing. As soon as he gets close enough, he takes the gun from Liam, makes sure it’s safe before tossing it into the green grass. “I know I’ve mentioned this before, but you’re gonna be safe, okay?”

Liam watches as Zayn’s tongue darts out to lick his lips. There’s a good amount of changes that’ve taken place to Zayn’s appearance since Liam remembers seeing him for the first time. His stubble is a lot thicker, still cut short, but darker in places, eyes still rimmed with black liner but features schooled in a mask of ease, of calming. It’s an affect Liam’s positive he uses to remain neutral, to play hard to read in a room full of others he must not show weakness to. “If you’re wondering,” Liam decides to include, “Harry’s already informed me about this conversation.”

“Has he now?” Zayn looks none too impressed, especially as he looks over his shoulder just as Harry glances over at them. He smiles wide, but Zayn just gives him the finger until Liam reaches over and slaps his hand down.

“Don’t do that.” He waves at Harry instead, looking over Zayn’s shoulder while grinning so there’s no harm, no foul. “You don’t have to be a jackass, you know. As much as you’re looking out for me,” he quirks a brow up as soon as he refocuses his attention back onto Zayn, “Harry is too. As much as this is weird for me to admit this,” sighing, Liam rubs at his arm and shrugs, “he’s my friend now, and he should be yours too. He’s defended you, has spoken highly of you-”

With a tilt of his head, Zayn cuts Liam off.

“What?”

“Your point?” Zayn asks.

Liam tsks. “Don’t be in such a bad mood and learn to appreciate what you’ve got right in front of you. Things might be shit now, but I refuse to believe that they’re going to get worse.”

“Naive.”

Licking the front of his teeth, Liam makes a quick decision to down on the ground. It’s probably not the best mood given that he’s not quite sure what kind of bugs might be out here, but it’s easy on his body and makes his eyes look a little more innocent as he stares up at Zayn. “Is that all you’ve got to say on the matter?”

“I hear you,” Zayn begins, glancing around slowly before opting to take a seat right next to Liam. “You want me to be nice to Harry.”

Those words are met with a snort, Liam’s hair moving softly as he shakes his head. “What to do with you, Malik.”

A soft breeze passes through, and everything feels good for once. There’s a looming presence just beyond reach, but it hasn’t hit them yet, whatever it may be. So Liam’s going to take this moment, and he’s going to store it away to remember for later, as a reminder that temporary is always on the agenda.

“Wouldn’t’ve even tried for a boy like you.”

Liam quickly glances up, eyes narrowed and set on Zayn as he picks at the grass, tearing the blades off before plucking at more.

“What makes you say that?” It’s such a lonely thought, Liam thinks, knowing that their life now could’ve ended up as something parallel. It seems rightly fair to think about all else that could’ve been, but it’s only daydreaming of wishes that should’ve, could’ve, might’ve come true had smaller decisions been made.

Zayn swallows, and it looks like it’s difficult for him to form words, probably not use to being this honest about himself. “I doubt a school boy like yourself would’ve given me a second glance if that were the case. ‘m completely used to being overlooked, and I think I’d be the one in the back of the class with a wish and no backbone to make anything happen.”

It’s a difficult statement to understand. Well, not particularly because Liam gets it, yes, but the meaning behind it, the reason it’d been said, that’s what doesn’t make sense. “I find it hard to believe that a guy who’s in control of one of the most well-respected gangs in the city would be ignored so easily otherwise.” Which Liam means, because even if Zayn takes control, his body language absolutely demands it. It’s a mixture of strength and power, a rigid jaw and piercing hazel eyes that hold deep pools of wisdom. People might think he’s mysterious or the bad boy, but there will always be that lingering factor, something that draws them in.

After all, it got Liam.

“I miss that,” Zayn says as he shifts his body. At first it looks as if he’s going to be standing up again, and Liam accidently makes a low whine of protest, but then Zayn’s smirking, pushing at Liam’s shoulder until he’s lost his balance, back hitting the ground with a low thud. “I miss having blind faith,” he repeats as soon as he’s settling over Liam. He’s situated in between his legs, arms on either side of Liam’s body, holding himself up. “And trust,” Zayn includes. “Definitely regret not keeping that safe.”

“I’m everything you never wanted,” Liam concludes. His sigh is resolute, and he briefly thinks he should knock Zayn to the side, leave before anyone notices - if they haven’t already - to save themselves (or rather Liam) the embarrassment of catcalls. “You know, I shouldn’t be here.” Avoiding the crease of Zayn’s forehead is for the best, definitely, because it’ll only draw attention to those doe eyes, framed by thick lashes and a guaranteed look of impiety. “Definitely shouldn’t’ve allowed myself to get this close to you.” He could choke up, throat thick with emotions that Liam’s always been too easy to give away. However, it’s important that Zayn realize what Liam’s giving up now, all that’s happened and all that he’s done. It hasn’t been much; it’s not like Liam’s done so much good as he has bad, but he’s talking about him falling into a place he figured he wouldn’t ever end up.

Liam doesn’t strictly notice when Zayn leans down. He feels the warmth of his body shift closer, but he’s surprised with when soft lips meet his temple, pulling back only for fingers to trace the outline of his face, across his jaw, until Zayn’s turning Liam’s head in his direction. “Sometimes the most unexpected things sneak up on us.”

“Yeah, like the fact that I hadn’t expected to fa-” Liam snaps his mouth shut, jaw clenching.

In response, Zayn tilts his head just a fraction, quirking a brow. “What was that?” he grins.

“Nothing.” Liam rapidly shakes his head from side to side before deciding to push Zayn off of him so he can sit up. “C’mon now.”

“You’ve got me curious, Liam. You can’t just start something without finishing it.”

With the way that Zayn says it, it sounds like a challenge. For what, Liam’s not sure, but he snorts and finally gets his way when Zayn sits back on his knees. There still isn’t much distance between them, at least not the kind Liam was striving for, but it’s all that’s needed for Zayn to finally rush the other lad, knocking him back down, only to attack his mouth. “If I haven’t told you already,” he starts, cutting himself off when he goes to kiss Liam again, “you’re a little shit, and I don’t appreciate you clamming up on me, especially after all this time. Cat finally got your tongue?”

“Zayn,” Liam pouts, hands on the other man’s shoulders. “Not _now_!”

A breathy laugh is released, but Zayn doesn’t let up, pressing small little kisses over Liam’s face while he tries to fight him off. Eventually he’s got Liam giggling, trying to retaliate on his own by reaching up and aiming to tickle Zayn’s sides.

Zayn ends up flinching, catching himself off guard when he loses his balance. He quickly tries to land on his side instead of directly on top of Liam, but the effort is wasted when a good part of him stumbles, the upper half of his body on Liam and the rest amongst the grass. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, darling,” Zayn drawls, pinching Liam’s side just to make a point.

Liam tries to squirm away from him, swatting at his hand, and while he makes to speak, he’s interrupted by a voice that could only belong to Harry. “Alright, lovebirds,” he says as he makes his way over to them, his shadow blocking the sun so they don’t have to squint to see him. “As sickeningly sweet as this is, and lord knows Zayn’s needed it...” Harry ends up trailing off, and from the position that the two men on the ground are in, Liam can’t really see Zayn’s face since he’s starring up at his right hand man. However, he can see Harry’s, and he’s not looking at Liam, but at Zayn. There’s a silent exchange of words, Liam knows, because Zayn suddenly goes rigid, sitting up quickly before he’s helping Liam up off the ground.

“Business awaits,” Zayn finishes. He helps brush the grass and dirt off of Liam, although he’s moving around too much for Liam to get an accurate read on his face.

“Right,” Harry nods, glancing between the two. “That.”

“What’s the matter?” Liam whispers just loud enough for Zayn to hear.

It pauses the other lad’s movements, hands sliding up to Liam’s shoulders and looking him dead in the eye. “I don’t know,” he admits. “But I’m sure it’s nothing.” He tries but fails to smile, and Liam can only look at him solemnly.

“Okay.”

“Liam,” Zayn warns, tone dropping.

“It’s fine.” Because it is, sort of. Obviously he shouldn’t have expected an entire free day, but he hadn’t thought that Zayn would need to leave so soon either. He figured he’d have more time today with his gun, Zayn right by his side, egging him on. “I’m fine,” he adds once he feels the way that Zayn’s hands curl into his shoulders. There are too many layers on him for it to hurt, but the implication is the same. “Promise.”

When Zayn stands there for a few moments longer, as if he’s trying to get an accurate read on Liam, he dips his head down in a nod, satisfied that Liam’s not upset. “I’ll be back tonight.”

And although he says it, it doesn’t mean it’s going to happen. Liam should be used to this by now and can’t honestly believe that this is what he’s turned into: a man reliant on a possibly, more than likely, dysfunctional relationship. Liam’s always had an issue with caring and doing it a little too much.

“You should go now,” he suggests, giving a weak smile in return of the discontent he feels.

Zayn doesn’t say anything else, just trails a hand down to Liam’s, squeezing warmth and a pulse up Liam’s arm. The last thing he gets is a very subtle kiss on the cheek before Zayn’s picking up his gun and stalking off, Liam not paying attention to him disappearing.

Harry’s the only one left a minute or so later, and Liam figures he’s there to take him back to the club to ensure that he gets back safely. Yet when Harry licks his lips and makes a point to gesture with his hands, Liam’s shoulders drop. “You have to go too, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Harry agrees. “It’s, well. Something’s come up, and I think I’m going to have to bet here.”

Liam licks the front of his teeth and stares off into the distance behind Harry. “You should go then.”

“L-”

“You need to go too,” Liam reaffirms, eyes darting towards the other male.

Harry breathes in deeply, eyes closing for a few seconds longer than it takes to quickly blink. “I told you the reason we came out here earlier. We can have plenty more days like this, but if we’d have known, then Zayn wouldn’t’ve bothered asking.”

Maybe he has no right to be this upset because when he really thinks about it, it’s ridiculous to even be remotely agitated by what can’t be controlled. “It’s okay.”

“But it’s not,” Harry counters. “Look, we’re all going to be heading out. I’ll leave someone here to make sure you get back okay. If Zayn doesn’t come ‘round tonight, I’ll stop by.” Just before Harry leaves, he claps Liam on the shoulder, gives him a reassuring smile before leaving too. There are a few shouts behind him, undoubtedly Harry rounding up the rest of the group to head off. As soon as they cease, Liam decides to high tail it out of here too, no point in sticking around if he’s left to his own devices.

Unfortunately he remembers his gun, and while he’s grown accustomed to the weight of it, it definitely feels bulky and awkward in his hand. He ends up putting it in the waistband of his jeans before he turns around and finds only one gang member there, waiting on him. He’s not staring, probably trying to give Liam some space, but even with that kindness, it doesn’t do Liam any good. The area is silent now that everyone has left, the wind blowing lightly and the rustling of the leaves on trees around them. It certainly feels different out here, a lot more dreadful than the first time Liam was introduced to its expanse.

“We can leave,” Liam says as soon as he’s made his way over to the other man clad in black and leather. He struggles to place a name to the figure, but it’s no use, and honestly, there’s probably no point anyway since he’s only being directed to start walking without a word spoken.

Which is completely fine for Liam. He’s not in a chatty mood sort of mood and favors going back to his room - scratch that, _their_ room - for some down time. Liam’s only been awake for a couple of hours, but the thought of a bed sounds amazing, more so to give him the chance to wallow rather than actually sleep.

The car is already running idle by the time they get over the hill. The driver is standing next to the door, holding it open, and Liam slips inside with ease. He’s not joined by anyone else, rather they take to the front of the car with small amounts of conversation while Liam sits next to the door, staring out of the window.

Once they get moving, the dust flies behind them, leaving behind the Range its entire existence. It’s situated oddly, the more Liam thinks about it (finding that he has time to do so, and the fact that he’d rather take his thoughts off of anything other than something simple), out in the middle of nowhere, the perfect place to conduct business, hide bodies.

It sends a shiver down Liam’s spine knowing the same land that he’d inadvertently been told to cherish only holds secrets, blood and bullets.

But it’s another topic he’d rather not think about, so Liam breathes deeply, and he shifts uncomfortably in his seat, the weight of the gun pressed against his lower back. It’s too cold pressed up against his skin, but the silence in the car outweighs that feeling. And maybe Liam’s just antsy. For what, he doesn’t know until he starts to weave his thoughts across the idea that this is the first time he’s truly been alone. Granted, he’d been given space by having his own room, left alone with bottles of alcohol on the wall that surely wouldn’t ease the kind of pain and possibly guilt Liam had for having to leave everything behind, his schooling (which he’s no doubt has dropped him from all courses), his apartment, and even his family (a discussion Liam had brought up once before with Harry, too afraid to ask Zayn about it considering Harry’s problem with making everything sounds really dramatic surrounding the gang leader. Really though, it’d just been Liam trying to be sensitive towards Zayn because he gets the feeling that what had been, certainly doesn’t exist now, and maybe it’s him drawing conclusions, but Liam wouldn’t put it past anything to say that maybe Zayn’s only got Harry in this fucked up life. Either way, Harry had mentioned letters, to which Liam responded with a snort because who the fuck did that anymore?)

So Liam ends up wringing his hands together and possibly scratching his short, blunt nails against his jeans in order to find some semblance of substance and feeling of accuracy to let out his anxiousness.

Yet the longer he tries to find peace within his actions, it never comes. And regardless of trying to give his heart a break of the sensibleness he’s become attached to, it seems all for naught as the car he’s in travels down the road and is then hit from behind by a sudden force that knocks Liam out of his seat (him having forgotten his seatbelt earlier), clawing at the leather in the car in order to balance himself.

“What the fuck was that?” he finds himself saying, his jaw already working for him.

“Stay the fuck down.”

It’s what Liam hears in response, so he doesn’t even bother trying to sit upright, favors the floor of the car. He can’t see, but that worry doesn’t matter as the vehicle is hit from behind again. He feels rattled, near silent curses escaping past his lips. He’s jerked in different directions from the car maneuvering from left and right, and the way that Liam knows they speed up, is a good indication that everything is definitely not okay and are more than likely being chased.

Liam’s got enough nerve to ask what’s going on, but he doesn’t have the courage to sit up to try and peek out of the back window. The men towards the front of the car are holding a conversation of their own, one Liam can’t make out entirely aside from the occasional panic that resides there. It does nothing to ease the coil of his own anguish, and now’s probably the time to start freaking the fuck out and wondering whether or not he’s going to get out of this alive.

Not all rational thought has escaped Liam, but he’s more in a right state of hysteria than anything else, and that ceases all logical judgment.

“Liam,” someone says quickly. “Whatever happens next, stay where you are, and if I tell you to run, you goddamn do it.”

He’s dumb, so fucking dumb because he nods as if the voice attached to the person would be able to see him from his position, but there’s no time to answer as movement takes place and he hears the cock of the gun.

“Oh shit,” he breathes, and it’s all a whirlwind after that.

His ears ring; there’s yelling. Someone is instructing him to be ready for anything that might happen next, and ultimately Liam’s completely frazzled to the point where there’s a rush of blood filtering through his hearing, eyes going unfocused as he stares at the interior of the car.

It doesn’t take much for it to sink in what this is and what it means. Either they’ve been mistaken - which is highly unlikely - or this is very much a personal vendetta. Liam’s seen enough car chases to know how the runner always ends up, the car flipped over, blood, and potential fire. And maybe he’s jinxed it all, but he reaches around for his gun at the last minute, when there’s still the sound of wind and the jolt of the car filling the space around him. He checks it quickly, fumbling with the weapon, and eventually emitting defeat when there are really no bullets left to save his life.

He’s got no phone; his life is in the hands of a driver and a gang member who haven’t even informed him of anything further than staying low.

So the last thing Liam does is laugh. It’s from deep within his belly, and while he’s tried to be so positive about all of this, the odds are very much against him right now, that he knows he’s not going to make it. He’s going to die as an unidentified body, probably dropped off at the doorstep of the club, beaten and slashed and marked to high heaven, face unrecognizable save for the lingering scraps of clothing and words carved into his skin.

The tears don’t come like Liam thinks they ought to, but even then, it’s proved futile giving in because there’s a shot fired, too distanced to have come from the car he’s in, that breaks the back window, sending shards of glass everywhere. Some of them nick him, but the pain is essentially nonexistent as another bullet flies and the driver’s blood is spilled and splattered across the windshield.

From there, the car essentially loses control. Liam thinks the other person with him tries to take control, but there’s a dead body in the way and the vehicle isn’t having it. They’re still going at a fast pace, and Liam decides to fuck it and sit up, assessing the situation going on in the front seat.

Of course there’s a handle on the wheel but it doesn’t do much good when a gun occupies the other. There’s panic, and just a second too late, Liam notices how there’s a car right next to them on the road, swerving in for one final crash before they’re off the road and spilling over into dirt. The car doesn’t flip repeatedly as Liam had expected, but it does land on its side, the windows busting as Liam falls on top of it. Blood oozes out of his newly received wound, and he’s dazed once again.

Throughout his harsh breathing, everything settles. There are particles of dust, and Liam’s small, rough whimpers as he tries to pick himself up. Although as he breaths, the silence is broken by a voice just on the edge of life. “Run, Liam. Whatever you do, run, and don’t let them catch you.”

A sob almost escapes him, and he wants to argue that he’s not leaving anyone behind, but as he sets up on his knees, crouching within the space provided, he can’t quite tell if he’s now partially responsible for two dead men.

And certainly it’s his fault. If he had just stuck to what he knew best, kept to himself and dismissed Niall’s business altogether, then he wouldn’t be looking death in the eye. Maybe it’s too soon to call the date and time, but surely it’ll happen by nightfall, at the very latest.

Liam pulls at the door handle, having to push and use as much strength as he can in order to get it to open. Climbing out is something easy, but as soon as he does that, he recognizes the presence of other people around him.

He’s shaking by now, as soon as he’s able to slide off of the car, feet hitting the ground. They’re on the outskirts of town, just on the edge of the city, and there’s a brief amount of hope that maybe someone will notice. But thinking like that at this time is pointless because people are bound to scurry off rather than help someone like him, especially when there’s at least two men with guns trained on him and a man whose arms are crossed who looks none too pleased.

“You just don’t die, do you?” he snaps.

Liam flinches, hunched over just the slightest bit, giving away the fact that he’s scared. The sun is bright out given that there is far less trees shadowing the surrounding area, and Liam has to squint in order to make out faces. It’s not that he wants to, but he figures it’s best to do so _if_ he makes it out alive.

“Resilient; I like that.”

The purse of lips has Liam worrying at his own.

“But it doesn’t do a lick of good if it’s in the person I’m after.”

The man finishes speaking before he begins to walk towards Liam. He’d run if he could, replays the words he’d been told less than five minutes ago in his head, but there’s no doubt he’d be gunned down, just a body left in the dirt for the birds.

It takes no more than twenty steps for the person to end up in front of Liam. He’s burly, much more than Liam is, wide set shoulders, muscles and a way about him that screams he’s a threat. Liam decides to keep his head down, eyes glued to his feet despite the fact that fingers curl around his chin so tightly, forcing him to look up despite the glare of the sun in his eye.

“Hmm,” his lips twist up into a grin, eyes ablaze with wonder, “I guess this means we’re going to have a little fun.”

Liam’s cheek is patted before the hand is removed and replaced with a fist directly to his face.

+

The first time his eyes open, he's met with a bright light that sends a rapid pain straight to his head. So instead of trying to see what's going on, he opts for trying to regain his senses, tuning in to certain parts of his body to try and assess the situation and what might've possible happened to him. Nothing comes to mind, at least not straight off the bat, and it's frustrating, if nothing else. Blurred thoughts mix together, and he can't keep them straight long enough to piece together a vivid timeline that might help him figure out why he's in this kind of pain.

With his head still throbbing, Liam tries to open his eyes again, but it's no use. It's too bright, and he favors the darkness of his eyelids. It brings a small amount of comfort, not much considering the very ache that runs down the back of his head and towards the rest of his body. There's a moment of concern where Liam thinks he might've gained substantial injuries and ended up in the hospital, but a twisting in his gut jerks him away from that mentality. Something doesn't settle well with him, and a pool of dread fills him up quickly. He still can't place why, but it lingers, especially as he hears voices, very low, from a few yards away.

Liam thinks maybe it's best to call out for help, to see if maybe someone is looking for him, but they just can't find him. Yet, he can't bring himself to do it. He tries to swallow, to see how bad his throat is, and it's only dry and scratchy, nearly raw as if he'd been screaming something fierce. The voices, as he's listening, don't sound familiar. They're distant and almost tinny, and Liam doesn't think they belong to anyone he personally knows.

Which still doesn't help him out. Why is he here? Where is he? And why does he feel like this? Surely someone would want to bring him comfort.

"I think he's waking."

Liam jerks as his cheek is patted. His eyes open quickly despite the burn it brings, and he feels like he might tilt over from the vertigo and nausea he suddenly feels.

"You might wanna go get 'em. Boss said he wanted to know first thing."

Footsteps sound out loud and clear aside from the voices. Liam's too busy trying to make himself better, get himself to focus rather than paying attention to anything else. Soon enough though, something, a person, is brought into his line of sight. He's really rather disgusting, crooked teeth, ragged, chopped up hair and a smile that makes Liam all the more uneasy.

"Just you wait," he says. "Everything's gon' be okay."

Liam feels himself nod, but in actuality, it's just him not regaining his balance, head rocking forward until he's passed out once again.

+

When he wakes up next, it's abrupt because it's fucking _cold_. He's drenched in water, body immediately shivering because of the liquid.

"Finally decided to wake."

The statement is directed at Liam, but he's too busy trying not to shake. He's freezing now, and when he glances down, he notices that not only is he soaked, but he's strapped to a chair, hands tied to the arm rests via duct tape and rope. Out of curiosity, he pulls on them. He honestly doesn't expect them to budge, but he inspects them, wonders why he's secured. This also gives him the initiative to pay attention to his feet and the way that they're bound too.

"What is this?" he croaks. He figures the water would've been better had it slide down his throat considering it's so fucking dry, and it cracks a multitude of times when he speaks. It's almost painful, but he manages because there's too much going on right now and not enough to actually process everything at once.

“My name is Ronan, and I’ve got a feeling we’ll be getting to know one another very well.”

He's stared at by some young man, who looks near Liam's age. The first thing he tries to do is place his face, but it’s not ringing any bells.

“What’s going on?”

“Depends,” is the answer Liam’s given.

Ever so slowly his mind starts to clear itself of its haze. Everything is still a blur, and there are parts of Liam that ache, but all he has eyes for right now is the way there’s someone sitting across from him who looks none too phased with how Liam is tied up.

Liam tries to find his voice again, but it doesn’t work. It’s scratchy and painful, so he just relies on staring.

“Obviously you weren’t meant to be dead yet, which I guess works out to an advantage on my part,” Ronan begins. “It means it’s taken awhile to get to this point, and just the fact that you’re here is probably a miracle unto itself. Let’s hope it’s not too difficult for you to cooperate.”

The purse of chapped lips has Liam snarling, but it does him no good when Ronan doesn’t bite.

“See, we’ve had a problem with some people, you could say,” the gestures of his hands are too big, too wide and Liam glares as Ronan does so, “Zayn, in particular,” to which Ronan pauses, tilts his head to the side to see if maybe that name will gauge a ruthless reaction.

It doesn’t.

“But then, well, things kind of took an unexpected turn, and somehow an innocent boy like you ended up in the crossfire. We’ve been playing this game for years, and not once have we had the added surprise of a new recruit.”

Liam coughs roughly before he gives in and talks. “Get to the point.”

Ronan snorts. “You’re not going anywhere anytime soon. You’ve got time. Don’t rush me.” His eyes darken before they perk back up. “I was willing to continue on with the agreement planned, but that didn’t work out when I found a couple of my men roughed up and some of them missing. By any chance, you wouldn’t happen to know what’s become of them, do you?”

As an answer, Liam shakes his head. He should probably stay silent, but the truth is the truth and keeping to himself right now has no guarantee that he’ll live to see another second.

“I think that’s an indirect lie,” the other man adds, sitting back in his chair only to cross his arms over his chest. “You may not know what happened to them exactly, but you do know that the gang you’ve been hanging out with isn’t so innocent. So you know, obviously, but I just think you’re the kind to ignore it, maybe turn a blind eye to everything that’s happened because you liked the danger.”

“That’s not true,” Liam spits, jaw tightening.

“Oh! Feisty and defensive, too. I bet you weren’t expecting it. It’s not hard to picture you having a life outside of this, not at all. But I think you finally found something you really, really wanted.”

“Fuck you.”

Ronan laughs. “Trust me, you don’t want that. This road could go two different ways, and that path is a very dangerous one.”

Liam swallows as he sees those eyes dim once more; they narrow and the spaces within the color collapses as intention and deceit seep through. Liam knows exactly what he’s implying, and the building cry within him wants to escape. He can’t let it though, can’t show any kind of weakness in this moment, not when Ronan is sizing him up and implementing his rules. Liam can’t break until he knows he’s at his absolute weakest, when he’s ready to finally let the life drain out of him. Right now, he’s got a fighting chance, a little bit of a time and some of his health attached to his body. He’ll be damned if it ends right now, regardless of any kind of trauma and pain he’ll experience.

“What exactly is it that you want?” Liam chooses to ask.

“I figure you won’t be willing to give me any information you have on Zayn, so I’ve decided to start off easy and wonder about their housing. That’s simple and a bird’s nest I’d like to find.”

Liam flickers his eyes away from Ronan for a brief moment, finally allows himself to take in his surroundings. He’s encased by tarps hanging up everywhere, in the form of a square so that he’s boxed in. What’s on the other side, Liam doesn’t know, but the only thing else in the area is Liam, his chair and the other chair Ronan is sitting in. Most of it is white, but the material hanging up sways as if there’s a breeze in the room. If he listens closely, Liam can hear the sound of random chatter off in the distance.

“I’m not giving you anything,” he responds.

Ronan tsks. “Figured.” He shakes his head and stands up, shrugging at Liam as if he hasn’t kidnapped another human being and isn’t planning something vicious either. “We’ll start off slowly, just to give you a taste. After that, it’ll be because of your own doing.”

The other man leaves for a few minutes, leaving Liam to his thoughts and panicking as everything truly begins to sink in. Liam’s never had a high pain tolerance, and he has no doubt that what’s about to happen is going to be something cruel. He can’t lie and say the thought of spilling everything doesn’t sound appealing right about now, figures that’s why Ronan is leaving him alone for so long, to think this through. But there is no guarantee that they’ll actually leave him alone if Liam decides to say anything at all; there’s too much at stake for Liam guess on that. He’d not only be giving away things he doesn’t have the right to but also hurting the people he’s grown fond of. He shouldn’t like them; they’re people he shouldn’t be associated with, ever, but it’s too late, and they’re the only thing Liam has.

Ronan appears again, a brow raised as if he’s questing Liam to see if maybe he has something to say, but he doesn’t, and he won’t. Liam won’t speak, and he’ll endure whatever comes his way. He’ll cry, and he might beg for them to stop (the brief memory of the man in the chair back at the club, flashes across his mind, how Liam had intervened. He wishes there would be some kind soul to do the same, but Liam’s not so lucky).

He walks closer to Liam, a hand behind his back as if he’s got a surprise he won’t to show him. “Open wide,” he gestures, bringing his hand from around his body to reveal a pair of pliers.

Liam does nothing but stare, eyes darting to the metal and Ronan as if he can’t be serious about this.

But he is, given that he snickers. “Although I’m pretty sure that’s something you’re already good at, especially with a mouth like that.”

Liam feels sick, stomach rolling, mouth set into a straight line. He breathes, blinks hard, and tries to wiggle out of the chair. It’s no use though. There’s no way out of this. “Wait,” he speaks quickly, lips betraying his mind that is screaming at him to keep quiet. “What’s the point in harming me?” Liam asks, speaking quickly as his tongue will allow, wanting to draw logic into this situation. There’s this threaded thought that it won’t work because these people don’t ever play by the right rules, but he figures he’s got to try, stall, do something.

That doesn’t stop Ronan from reaching forward to grab Liam’s jaw and jerking his head up.

“You have me now, and I’m sure Zayn will come through with whatever you want. Just let me-”

But the click of Ronan’s tongue cuts him off completely. “It’s incentive, dear Liam. Besides, once we get that tooth removed,” he taps Liam’s jaw with a finger, “you’ll be tasting defeat, and that’s exactly what I’ve been waiting for.” His fingers clench the lower half of Liam’s face much tighter now in order to get Liam to open up, but Liam snaps his mouth shut, refusing to let this man hurt him.

“Look,” Ronan tries to sympathize. “We just want to run the Forty Thieves into the ground. We had a standard agreement until Zayn fucked it up by harming one of my men.”

Liam’s eyes widen briefly. He’d been given a name, but no further explanation as to who he was. Obviously he’d been aware of the fact that he’d been taken by the Blue Bloods, but this confirmation is something else. Zayn’s the leader of one gang, and with the way that he runs it, differs from others that hold a name. Ronan is no exception, and his rules vary.

His reaction gives Ronan the chance to grin gleefully, and Liam doesn’t know whether he’s just too happy, or whether he’s staring into the face of a sociopath.

“Even then, there was no guarantee that I wouldn’t come after you or anyone else in his goddamn little group.” A thumb trails over Liam’s bottom lip, brushing against it softly. “They’re all so small minded, no looking at the big picture, too satisfied with what’s in front of them. They play it safe, and that’s a shame.”

As soon as he’s finished speaking, a shuffling to the left distracts both parties, Liam barely able to see another person enter the room since his face is locked in place. Eventually there’s a presence behind him, a finger pinching his nose, which only causes his jaw to fall open and those rusty pliers to be inserted into his mouth.

Liam wiggles in his chair, tries to shake them off, but it doesn’t do any good when a firm hand rests against his shoulder.

“Just hang in there, yeah?” Ronan grins, the tip of his tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration. “This’ll be over soon.”

The tool clanks against Liam’s teeth, and it hurts until it makes contact with a molar towards the back of the mouth. Liam would be lying if he said his eyes didn’t begin watering before the pulling began, but that’s what happens, especially as Ronan grips the tooth and tugs so hard that Liam can’t help but cry out for the first time, hands curling into fists at the unexpected jolt.

Liam can do nothing but suck in as much air as he can and wait, the hand on his shoulder holding him still as his jaw is squeezed firmly by dirty fingers. He tries to think of somewhere far off, a distant land, a life parallel to this one he’s living, but all he can truly concentrate on are the sounds emitting from his throat and the way his mouth quickly fills with blood every time his tooth is forced out of its gum.

+

It’s not like Liam knew the time of day in which he arrived, and by now it’s all muddled together, that there is no hope for him to truly know how long he’s been in the hands of the Blue Bloods. He feels awful, face swollen, body spent and bruised to shades of purples and blues. He can’t imagine what he looks like in the mirror, and for a split second he wonders what death is like. It’s a common thought amongst many thinking briefly about one’s deathbed, who they are then and how much they’d gotten live. However, Liam can’t say he’s done much. He’s just a stupid boy from the city who dared to dream too big, where luck decided to play with him and send someone like Niall into his life.

From there, it was only a matter of time before shit hit the fan and everything Liam knew would be swept from underneath his feet. It’s a miracle he’s lasted this long, found the people he did, found that path his life managed to take. He takes a sharp breath, chest aching, lungs burning and tries hard not to cry. His face is still stained with salty tears from previous torture sessions, and Liam wants it to end, wants it to stop, and if that means he stops with it, then fine. He’s okay with that.

They come and go and do as they please, and Liam shudders to think that he’s living within the confines of a movie, those that are too gruesome to be true. Now he knows better, that some people’s imaginations are more vivid than what they seem and should be locked away from society because the fiction versus the reality leaves a bland, hard mark across its victims.

Zayn’s face is ever present though. That’s the one constant. He’s the first person on Liam’s mind, always. He’s not sure why, regrets it as it pops into his head because he thinks about his family and what they must be thinking, why he hasn’t called them or been able to visit. It’s very unlike him. But Zayn is there, and Liam should be mad that his word had been broken, that he hadn’t been able to keep his word, it doesn’t’ really matter all too much because it’s not like Liam didn’t have faith in Zayn, but probability always favors logic. Liam’s not smart, nor is he the kind that people flock to naturally, but he knows when things are too good to be true and when it’s not.

Tonguing at the gum of his teeth, where the molar had been pulled, Liam prays that something happens soon. Be it Zayn finding him – if he can find Liam – or if it’s him succumbing to the fate that Niall had left for him; Liam’s not sure if he minds, just knows it’s gotta end.

For now, he rests. He shortens his gulps of air, trying his best to calm down so that his chest isn’t expanding and pulling at hurt muscles. He closes his eyes and wills himself to fall asleep, wanting that more than anything else he can feel or might possibly receive.

+

There’s commotion, which ends with Liam in panic one evening. He jolts awake, hearing shouts and obscenities from people around him before Ronan is in his view, cutting Liam’s restraints and pulling him forward by his neck. Liam willingly goes, knowing he doesn’t have the strength left to fight the other lad.

Liam’s all but dragged out of his seat quickly, and while Ronan tries to get him to pay attention and listen to his instruction (something about leaving and getting away); there’s the sound of gunshots fired, and Liam being dropped to the ground.

There’s no time to stop himself from hitting the pavement either. It comes fast and knocks the wind out of him. His head bounces against the floor, where Liam feels the skin rip and pulse with blood, and while he cowers away from the pain, it’s not the only thing he’s feeling. For one, he’s still in terrible shape. Blue Bloods hadn’t left him time to recover from anything, and just as Liam had felt defeated and completely broken beforehand, he certainly feels it now.

He tries to sit up, thinking maybe he has enough upper body strength to give him that much power in doing such a simple task, but it fails when something covers his hand and crushes it. He screams, throat so raw that he sounds like he’s got nothing left in him, like he might possibly be dying. And when the heel of the boot is eventually lifted away, Liam’s once again left on the floor in misery.

“C’mon,” Ronan snarls. He grabs for the back of Liam’s shirt again, fisting it within his hand in order to lift Liam up. “Shoulda just killed you. Would’ve saved us all the trouble.”

Liam whimpers as Ronan’s face comes into view. He looks withered, tired even, and Liam would love to claw his face to pieces, remove his image from his brain and the fact that he ever had to lay eyes on such a disgusting man.

“Let’s see if I can get out of this though. Maybe they’ll be happy to trade a petty bitch like you.”

He’s pushed forward, told to walk to the door on the far right of the room, and somehow, Liam manages. Of course Ronan’s hand stays where it is, so maybe that has something to do with Liam’s ability to walk (no doubt wobbly) through the threshold of the door. It takes a good minute or two for them to enter into another area, one Liam doesn’t recognize. It’s spacious, but there are a lot of boxes and reminds Liam of a warehouse.

“Little surprise for you,” Ronan shouts out into the room. He shoves Liam to the floor, on his knees and continues to keep his hand on him in order to steady him so he won’t fall over. At this point, Liam’s dazed, can’t keep much of his mind straight except that there’s a voice shouting back at Ronan from somewhere in the room. It sounds so familiar, but Liam can’t place it until he hears the shuffling of boots on pavement. There’s a few, so there’s obviously more than one man coming into view. But when he does, Liam knows the clench within his chest is no accident.

The first to appear is Harry. Those curls and green, round orbs, Liam would know anywhere. He’s got a gun pointed straight, held in front of his body, with both hands on the weapon. However as he gets closer, he side-steps out of the way where a few other members of the gang come into view, parting the way and darting off to the side, as if they’re going to circle around both Ronan and Liam.

“What? Boss doesn’t want to come play?” Ronan sounds like he’s pouting, but his question is answered as soon as Zayn steps into view.

Liam’s eyes widen, blinking several times just to keep the other lad in focus, but it’s him, he thinks, not just some illusion.

“You mistake me for a coward,” Zayn speaks. He’s got a gun in his own hand, but it’s lowered to his side. The tone he carries is even, strict and sends a chill down Liam’s spine because he knows that voice, heard it plenty of times when Zayn knew what he wanted and knew he was going to get it.

Ronan doesn’t seem to understand though.  He snickers, eyes roaming down to Liam for a split second before his lips crack into a grin. “Of course,” he jests. “Been hiding out for so long, it’s only safe to assume that Zayn isn’t living up to his good name.”

“Ah,” Zayn tilts his head, “so you have heard of it then, yes?”

Ronan purses his lips. “Give or take. Hard to say I believe it because the man I was told to fear, isn’t well,” he barks out a laugh, “isn’t really a man at all.”

Liam, for what it’s worth, whimpers. It draws Zayn’s attention for a brief second before he snaps his gaze away from him. If it were any other moment but now, Liam would’ve taken it as a sign that Zayn found him truly disgusting, but he wonders if this is a struggle for him not to look, to continue staring at Liam to make sure he’s actually real too, real and _alive_.

“Doesn’t have to be like this.”

The view is reminiscent of an old western, where two people battle it out via the fastest reflex. However, Liam’s not even sure what Ronan’s after at this point, doesn’t even know how Zayn is here or _why_ , just knows that he is, and that things might not be okay. Liam’s lasted this long on his own but guns are still drawn and Ronan wouldn’t go down without a fight.

“Of course it doesn’t,” Ronan says. “But see, you’ve given me the perfect opportunity for much more than revenge.” He’s a little clown like, hand still on Liam while the other gestures dramatically. “I can kill Liam here, repay the debt that was owed and wipe you out in the process.”

A gun goes off, but Ronan doesn’t flinch, so Liam knows it’s aimed at Zayn and his mean. No one cries out of agony, so it’s safe to assume no one was hit.

“I’ve men all around this building. I can take you out so easily, Zayn.”

But Zayn counters, not ready to face defeat. “We had a deal.”

“Ah,” Ronan nods. “We did, didn’t we? But things change, Zayn. When we knew you had a pretty young thing; what better way out of this hell hole of high society then leverage?”

There’s another round of gunfire, but it sounds distant, and this time no one moves to try from being a potential target. Zayn’s still standing there, body set on edge, leather jacket and dark eyes trained ahead. “We can finish our deal then,” he suggests.

Although, Ronan snorts and taps a foot. “I don’t think you understand.” He pauses, glances down at Liam to run his fingers through his hair and pull his head back. “Do you see him here?” He nods at Liam. “I’m pretty sure he’s the reason you’re going to be listening to what I have to say because if you don’t, it won’t take me but a minute or less to wring his neck, and all you’ll have to carry home with you – assuming I’m going to keep you alive – is a dead body, brown lifeless eyes staring back at you with no more love.” His tone is full of mockery, face set in a pout as if he’s trying to act sad. “And poor Zayn hasn’t been loved in a long time. S’been awhile, couple years, right?”

Zayn’s lip things immediately, eyes narrowing. “You know nothing.”

“How about we tell him,” and he gestures to Liam once more, “how everything you touch turns to ash?”

Ronan finally lets go of Liam, letting his head fall forward so that it’s tucked closely to his chest. He takes a moment to breath before he stirs, raising his head enough so he can stare up through his eyelashes, watching as Zayn’s jaw is clenched tightly, fingers curled into a fist where the veins and muscles bulge and flex.

“You think so little of me that you don’t even take into consideration that maybe I’m one step ahead of you?” With a matter of seconds, Zayn’s got a gun in his hand. It looks like he pulled it out from behind the waistband of his jeans, but it doesn’t matter as he holds it up, fingers moving in place so that all he has to do is pull the trigger.

It should scare Ronan, but it really doesn’t. There’s several other guns trained on him, including Harry’s, and he hadn’t been nervous then, so it doesn’t mean he should be now. Instead what the Blue Blood does is haul Liam up by his arm, fingers digging into the flesh, nails creating little marks that might surely draw blood lest he let go.

“We’re forgetting Zayn-“

“No,” Zayn says harshly, effectively cutting Ronan off. “That’s now how this works. What you should’ve realized is that when you eliminate the immediate threat, all the other soldiers tend to lose face because their leader is dead.”

Liam whimpers when Ronan squeezes tighter. He can’t bring himself to open his eyes again, favoring the way that he clenches his teeth together tightly, face scrunched up in agony, it helps release some of the pain. He hurts all over, and maybe some of that is dulled by the adrenaline with knowing that Zayn and Harry are both here.

Whether anyone understands Zayn or not, isn’t really the question. It seems that Ronan does because his eyes narrow, and he frowns. And like always, before anything major happens and the ultimate victor are the heroes, the people that should win, there’s always one last drawback before everything realigns itself back to normality. This comes in the form of Ronan pulling back for something. Liam doesn’t know what it is, just knows that he shuffles backwards with Liam in tow before he’s lifting up an arm, showing off an object before it makes contact with Liam’s side.

It’s sharp, and once again, Liam’s left to cry out, but it’s so much pain. Tears build in his eyes, and he’s got enough strength in him to look down to see the handle of a knife sticking out of his body, Ronan’s fingers curled around it. Liam doesn’t care how weak he looks, how broken and hurt he feels; all of it overwhelms him enough that he doesn’t know if he’s going to live. And that thought alone brings back everything, the beginning of this entire mess, the shit that went on with Niall, his meeting with Harry and finally meeting Zayn, who managed to be a proper arse but only sought affection instead.

So when Liam thinks of all of this, he turns his attention to Zayn because he doesn’t know if he’s going to live or if he’s going to die. He wants to see his expression, his face one last time before everything goes downhill from here.

Zayn doesn’t look shocked, doesn’t look like much of anything, and Liam wants to scream at him, scream bloody murder and shake some goddamn sense into his being because how is this fair? Was this supposed to happen? Why can’t Zayn be anything other than himself, be more open, more something so Liam can see that this pain wasn’t all for naught?

But then as he pants, tries to gather himself enough to breathe despite the hurt in his side and the way he can feel the blood seep from the wound, he thinks he finally understands when he gazes over at Zayn and Harry and the few men around. Zayn must retain his front, of course – or maybe that’s just Liam’s excuse - but it doesn’t stop him from noticing everyone else, the pained look Harry has, to the way everyone is gripping their weapon of choice a little tighter. He sees their worry and the way that Zayn looks more than a little sick to his stomach, how his finger falters on the trigger of his gun, the only sign that he’s really not okay.

And he gets it; it clicks like a light bulb, the meaning that is this world and where everyone fits in. It’s not just about ruggedness and the looks, nor is it about the drugs or the money, but a circle of people that fit nowhere else in life. They supposedly have one another’s back, ready to fall to their knees in defeat just to save a man they share a bond with, and Liam feels it run down his entire core, knows what he means to these people, and by extension, Zayn. They’re a piece of him, just as Liam’s slotted himself into this life unknowingly. He’s changed, believe it or not. His conscious decisions are now completely affected by what he now knows.

It’s a compromise between the two, at least it will always be from here on out – what it had always been in the beginning, just without the official label - Liam letting go and giving in, and Zayn taking the downfall for him. Yet it’s vice versa via the blood smeared across Liam’s face, the way that Zayn’s lips are drawn together, eyes wild with no remorse, although holding a lick of worry and promise in hazel eyes.

All Liam has to do is send a signal. He’s hanging in between a balance of things, and while it’s said that humans are selfish creatures, Liam knows that love is far worse in theory _and_ in practice. He won’t be able to say where he stands on anything else within the dynamic group he’s become so fond of, but one thing is for certain – if they’re willing to be here for him, Liam’s going to have to give something up. He’s going to have to leave a part of himself behind in favor of something new he’ll gain from this moment.

Liam’s eyes dim, a haziness covering his vision as his eyes drink in Harry’s figure. His body has smoothed out by now, not as rigid but still wound tightly, and Liam knows he’s scared. It’s written all over his features, and Liam wants that washed away for good because someone as kind as he doesn’t deserve those feeling to flood his veins.

And then he turns to Zayn one last time, whose eyes still hold much more than Liam will ever understand, who are now pleading with him in a way that he’s never seen before. Liam’s quite positive that if he were to ask Harry about it later, he’d be in awe that Zayn is now tied to him in a way he’s never dreamed of, all based on a decision that Liam is calculating in his head and has yet to approve of.

He tries to open his mouth, but his tongue is swollen by now, and so is the entirety of his face. His pain dims but shouts loud, so he whines in an attempt to bring Zayn comfort, but it’s not loud enough. The hands holding him up, still curled into the flesh of Liam’s upper arm, have a vice like grip on him, hurting him, definitely, but ever so slowly, the pain begins to numb as blood rushes into Liam’s ears.

He blinks once, a drop of blood from the cut on his head splashing onto the ground because Ronan was impatient, and then he does it again as another slides down to blur what’s left of his already cloudy vision. Liam counts down in his head from five because it seems like a good number, and then he nods, just once, before letting his body go limp, dropping to the floor and down onto his knees.

Ronan complains, is about ready to kick Liam for not cooperating, but that’s not the only other thing Liam hears as his view begins to fade into an opaque black. A single fire from a gun is released, the sound so loud, deafening, yet far away; it rings outs and covers the noise of curses and defeat.

Liam finally gives in, knowing he’s falling towards the ground, yet not feeling the impact because by then, he’s already blacked out.

+

When Liam wakes up, he’s startled. He doesn’t know where he is, but he’s lying down, head in someone’s lap, and there’s a smooth rocking sensation that nearly lulls him back to sleep. However there’s a hand resting against his cheek now, soft and warm, so he blinks up and finds that Zayn’s there, staring down at Liam with such fondness. He smells like cigarette smoke and cologne.

“Wh-” he tries to say, but Zayn’s shakes his head, fingers petting the side of his face in determination, as if he’s trying to memorize it. It feels good though, so Liam’s not complaining; they trail through the stubble on his jaw, over his nose, thumb tracing his eyebrows. It’s oddly familiar to him, but right now it just feels nice.

Zayn swallows first before he speaks, Liam notices, and he’d like nothing more than to reach up and touch his face too. “Said you could’ve died,” he admits, voice low and barely above a whisper. “Wouldn’t let you though. You’re probably still feeling the drugs, had to stitch you up.”

Remembering the wound from the knife has Liam shifting his feet. His hands are pliant, and he doesn’t feel like reaching around to feel where he’d been cut open, but he knows its there, just as his face probably looks worse for wear. He figures he should hide it, but Zayn’s eyelashes are long as the fan across his cheekbones. He looks incredibly soft, so gentle than he’s ever seen him before.

“I broke my promise,” he whispers again. Those fingers continue to smooth across Liam’s face, and he only blinks up at Zayn, wishing he had the words to soothe him. Instead, Liam wants to move, wants to shift away from Zayn’s lap and the warmness he feels against his cheek from having been pressed up against Zayn’s tummy.

Zayn makes a noise of protest, but Liam doesn’t care. He has a bit of trouble moving, trying his best to sit up, and for a moment he wonders if this might be bad for the stitches, but since he can’t feel them, he knows it’d be no problem having them fixed again. Zayn’s arm eventually wraps around Liam’s waist, tugging him closer to his chest so that Liam’s sitting in his lap, body pressed up against Zayn’s with his head tucked into the crook of the lad’s shoulder. Liam breathes him in, nuzzles his nose into the skin, so warm and delicate. One of his hands curls around the leather jacket Zayn is wearing, fingers brushing up against the skin of Zayn’s collarbone, and it feels nice like this, with Zayn around him. He sighs, content with his placement.

“We’re getting out of here,” Zayn says softly. His arm is still wrapped around Liam, hand resting firmly on his tummy in order to keep him still. “We’re in a car, and we’re safe. Harry’s driving, and I’m getting you out of here, Liam.”

The words dart through Liam’s ears, and while they go through his mind with ease, he doesn’t register them quickly enough, just nods into Zayn’s neck. His eyes feel heavy, drooping closed on several occasions and feeling the way that Zayn’s breathing is even and solid.

“And you changed your mind, didn’t you? You let me-” And before he can finish, Liam presses his lips against Zayn’s neck. He’s not up for speaking, but his fingers tug lightly, as hard as they can, given he feels so weak, on Zayn’s jacket, pressing a few more light kisses into his skin before he settles himself.

This time though, Zayn sucks in a breath. He pulls Liam back just enough so that he can see his face before his lips make contact with Liam’s temple. He peppers a string of kiss across Liam’s face, very subtle and gentle but enough for Liam to keen at the abundance of contact. And when Zayn finally withdraws himself, pressing one last soft kiss on the corner of Liam’s mouth, he eventually allows Liam to rest his head on his shoulder once again, his arms tighten up around the younger lad. “Mine, Liam,” he says. “ _Mine._ ”

Liam feels his eyelids closing again, wanting to fall back asleep. He has brief thoughts of what he’ll be in for afterwards, questions and explanations and shit he doesn’t want to do right now. So he lets himself be rocked to sleep slowly by the vibrations of the car moving, and Zayn’s scent overwhelming his mind, making him feel safe all over again.

“Always,” he murmurs.

+


	2. this is promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> everything’s not okay until it is. it’s stable, mostly, with a hint of apprehension, but it’s liam’s life now, and he’s positive he wouldn’t do a damn thing to change it.

+

The stars shine a bright white sparkly sort of color while the same cannot be said for the flame that was once in him. Never has Liam seen them in full view like this, a city boy raised with buildings and polluted air, never having a reason to travel this far out into the country for solitude.

It’s funny that that’s all he’s been doing these past few weeks. He’ll sit outside after dinner, sometimes on the porch, sometimes out in the field of grass that sits just before the house, lay down and gaze up at the navy blue sky until his eyes droop, and he’s got to pick himself up before he doesn’t have the strength to make it to his designated bed.

And it’s a bed, and it’s a home. But it’s different. It’s not the same in all the ways that it should be because it smells foreign and cold, and Liam has no way to warm it up. He hasn’t seen Zayn in days, and Harry shuffles around helping _her_ around the house because Liam’s too out of it to be polite. Either way, his help is not wanted anyway because he’s too busy being told to go sit down, to ease himself as if he might break.

He’s not healed, but he’s not fucking dead either, and Liam will be damned if he remains sedentary during this.

Which is how he found the stars, and the moon, and the peace.

It only provides him with so much comfort. Most days he longs for someone else’s presence, and when he determinedly asks Harry about it, he’s either given no response, or a glare in return.

Liam will hear Zayn though. It’s not like he hasn’t seen him around the house, but he’s more like a ghost, a shadow, someone who slips in and out, who’s purposefully avoiding the heaviness that Liam’s left to deal with. And it’s not fair, but Liam doesn’t blame Zayn because if Liam had the chance, he’d do the same: abandon all resolve in favor of not feeling. He sees the scars everyday, has to bear witness to the cuts that are only just now beginning to heal, or the way his tongue hovers and dips into his gum from the tooth he’d been forced to give up for the sake of dignity and loyalty.

He’s everything Zayn had promised wouldn’t happen. However, Liam doesn’t find an inkling of regret in his body. Thing is, he’s not quite sure if Zayn feels otherwise.

+

“He’ll come around,” she says.

Liam blinks to refocus his eyes. He’s been out here too long; there’s a bit of a chill to the air, but it’s difficult to find the want to move.

“And how do you know that?”

“I know my brother, Liam.”

The sweet scent of grass fills his nostrils as he breathes in deeply, lungs expanding. He can feel the tug of skin at his side, the place where the flesh hasn’t fully mended yet. There’s temptation to pick at it, itch and rub it away, but that’d do more harm than good; so Liam turns over to his left and finds a fragile body sitting cross-legged on the ground.

“You’ll get your clothes dirty,” he adds.

She reminds him of Liam’s sisters. She’s of a much different build, small, quiet, but she listens, and she’s well aware of Liam’s transgressions. He’d asked her once how and why she lived all the way out here, what had happened to Zayn specifically, but she’d done nothing but kept mum and fall into Harry’s arms as he guided her back into the living room.

“Nothing I’m concerned with.”

Liam clears his throat. “Then what is it specifically?”

Her chest rises and falls just as Liam’s does, but it’s the way her head is angled up towards the sky that has Liam convinced that she’s all sorts of calm. No tension can be found in her shoulders, nor does she have tells that give away all that’s dear to her heart.

“As terribly cliché as this may sound, I just know, and he’s not the kind to let things go so easily.”

With the sky already dark, they’ve got all the time in the world. One could argue that the sun is fast approaching, but with it, it highlights rather than shades, leaving blistering heat swelling furious minds for instant combustion. Liam’s not ready to give into that just yet.

“Zayn’s always believed that what he’s done has always for the best interest for everyone around him, sometimes not realizing that those he cared for got hurt. What diverges him from being something so cold blooded though,” she tilts her head down towards Liam, “can be accounted for the fact that he realizes his wrongs soon after and doesn’t try to play it off without emotion.”

“Are you telling me he’s changed?”

She snorts and shakes her head. “No, darling. If anything, Zayn’s trying to fix his mistakes.”

The question is certainly on the tip of his tongue, nearly finding its way out into the open, but before it has the chance to do so, she’s gone, slipping back into the house and leaving Liam out here with more than food for thought.

Sometimes he wonders how Zayn and Veronica are related, but it’s not so hard to picture when he realizes that she’s nearly who Zayn used to be.

+

Harry doesn’t avoid him, but he does know a lot more than he’s letting on, which makes Liam feel like he’s back at square one. Back there. With the gang.

This time around, Liam doesn’t bother asking. It’s not in fear that he won’t get answers, but it’s more along the lines that it’ll be something he won’t like.

Funny that though; Liam’s been through more shit, and one would think he’s perfectly capable of handling anything else. But the fact of the matter is, Liam’s not sure how he’s doing. Aside from being outside, he wastes his days away on the couch watching old cartoons, or curling up in an empty bed trying to find a reason to fall asleep at night.

Nightmares don’t happen. Sometimes they come; sometimes they don’t, but more often than not he wakes up in a fit of thick sweat covering his body and the sound of heavy breathing emitting from his throat.

Sometimes he thinks Harry knows, but the other lad doesn’t ask. It’s not like him to keep his distance, and Liam just misses the comfort. But he also realizes it’s got to do with himself. His face, however beaten and bruised up it may look right now, the result of it all when it’s healed may not be something anyone likes, including himself.

The only one who’s managed to make Liam feel normal is Veronica. When Harry’s away, and she’s the only one in the house, she’ll settle herself by his side, maybe ask him a question or two and leave it at that. No judgment, no nothing. It’s different. She’s different. Opposite and quiet, but so much like Zayn that Liam has to look away and bite his tongue because maybe she knows where he is and what he’s doing. Knows more than she’s letting on.

She’s also the first thing he’d seen when he’d first woken up. Liam clearly remembers Zayn pacing the room and Harry sitting on the bed while a figure leaned over his body, washcloth in hand and a warm smile painted on a soft face. It felt like a dream until Zayn had calmed him down, and after that, it was in and out of restless sleep, no sign of Zayn any longer.

+

It happens on a Friday night, when Liam is least expecting it. Harry’s on the couch with Veronica, the both of them closer than Liam would’ve imagined. That is, until he caught the both of them kissing out on the porch when he was leaving for his nightly ritual of green grass and a navy blue sky.

He doesn’t oppose. Just thinks it’s odd seeing Harry impossibly close to anyone other than Zayn.

Either way, they’re curled up on the couch, and Liam’s taken it upon himself to do kitchen work, scrubbing away at the dishes before safely tucking them into the dishwasher, all nice and neat even before the suds of the metal machine can attack the leftovers.

Liam’s concentrated, hears the creak of the door but pays it no mind until the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, eyes falling to the window in front of him where he finds a reflection. His chest tightens, constricts to the point where it’s almost painful, and it’s almost cliché the way the plate in his hand sinks back down into the soapy water with a thud.

“Zayn,” he breathes but doesn’t turn around. It’s obvious by the image in the window, just a reflection of the real human being standing just across the way, that the other man is startled. Liam figures Zayn wanted to get past him without him knowing, but he does. Liam knows now, and all he can wonder is if Zayn is going to run, dart off into the night with a cigarette behind his ear and a string of regrets flowing from his lips. “I’m sorry,” Liam says. The tears are welling in his eyes; he doesn’t mean for them too, but he’s felt like nothing but an empty shell, and with someone other than Harry or Veronica in the house, Liam’s got no choice but to feel everything building up. “I don’t know what I did,” the words roll, right off his tongue, and whether he believes them or not, Liam doesn’t care; not now, “but I’m sorry. Please don’t go.”

“I shouldn’t be here-”

And then a burst of anger coils and rips through his veins and even if his hands are soaked and pruny, raw and just thin enough to rub bloody, Liam turns around and hides his hurt by frowning because if Zayn can be a menace, if he can scowl and make threats, then Liam is not going to back away from this one.

“Like hell you shouldn’t be.”

“Liam,” Zayn warns. He looks haggard, blues and purples staining the delicate skin under his eyes, facial hair a little longer than what’s normal for a man of Zayn’s caliber. There’s something akin to defeat that sits within his stance, how his shoulders look curved, slumped like his victory and his power have been stripped away from him. “I’ve got to give you time-”

Yet he won’t hear any of it, not now. Not like this because it’s bullshit. All of it. It’s not good enough. “Avoiding it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen,” Liam says lowly. “Don’t you fucking dare go there either. Don’t diminish and belittle what I did for you.” It’s a natural response for someone’s voice to crack when they’re upset, and Liam is no exception. Just hearing himself stutter sends his lips wobbling and eyes diverting to anything else but Zayn. “There’s a lot of things that could’ve been done differently, but they weren’t. It had to happen the way it did, and I don’t need time or sympathy to make me feel better.”

“But it shouldn’t’ve,” Zayn comments next, disregards most of Liam’s words. “None of this should’ve happened.” He pulls at his hair, rubs a hand down his face because it’s obvious he can’t keep still. There’s an itch under his skin that Liam’s never seen before, a manic kind of complexity existing in his eyes that Zayn definitely doesn’t know how to deal with.

“Zayn-”

“Goddamnit, Liam,” he growls. “Is this what you want to hear then? Want me to tell you that you were right? I’m waiting.” He rolls his hand, a circular motion gesturing for Liam to go on and provoke him, give him what he wants to hear.

But Liam swallows it down, has never even thought to say something so absurd because how in the world would any of that be true?  “I don’t want to fight,” he whispers, shoulders dropping. “I can’t- I won’t,” he fumbles, the words are thick, and he’s growing frustrated. The only thing he can think to do is pull out a chair at the dining room table - the one placed in the kitchen because the place isn’t big enough to have two rooms - and sit down, look up at Zayn with nothing but questions filling his entire soul. “What am I gonna do, Zayn?”

He inhales and exhales slowly, letting the wetness fall away from his eyes, spill against the top of his cheeks. But they don’t travel far because when Liam closes his eyes, there are warm fingers pressed lightly, delicately against his cheeks, rubbing small circles into his skin.

And Liam realizes it’s the first time he’s really been touched by Zayn since this all happened.

“Liam,” Zayn says softly, cupping Liam’s cheeks in his hand, the corners of his mouth positioned upwards but in danger of falling away. “I can’t fix you, but I’m going to love you instead. You’ll see. I promise; you’ll see.”

He doesn’t argue, just grabs onto Zayn’s wrist as the other lad leans forward, warm lips pressing against Liam’s forehead.

+

It’s a word Liam’s come to cherish. Regardless of the correlation it holds with the feeling of boredom, it brings meaning to him. Stability, something he can lean on without worrying about falling over.

Zayn’s there.

His presence is never fleeting. He’s sure to tell Liam if he has to leave, checking up on him every so often, making sure he’s not overdoing himself. It’s smothering, Liam thinks, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. There’s also a possessiveness in the way that Zayn clings to Liam’s side while they’re together, cooped up in this little house on the outskirts of nowhere. There’s unlikely to be any harm, but it doesn’t stop Zayn placing a comforting hand on Liam’s hip, refusing to be anywhere else.

Liam thinks he’s trying to make up for being gone, and well, he’s a sucker for forgiveness. The behavior isn’t normal; his own behavior isn’t normal either, but it can’t be helped because Liam would rather them fall into something too close than too far away. And even if Harry frowns at them, he keeps his lips shut because Liam knows Harry can read him like a book. He doesn’t need to tell his curly-haired friend that this may be unfortunate along with a dose of unhealthy, but it’s fine. It’s under control. It’s safe.

So he enjoys himself as much as he can, puts away everything he’s thinking when he’s around Zayn because he doesn’t hold grudges, nor does he feel like picking at the metaphorical wound that holds both Zayn and his relationship together. There’s a bubbling underneath. It can be felt, especially in the way that Zayn hesitates when he’s around Liam; it’s nothing done strictly on purpose, more so out of caution than anything else, but Liam smiles through it as a reassurance.

The thing is, with the way it’s all going, soft and slow and easy, Liam knows that eventually things come to a head. There’s room for so much, a gaping hole that gives his subconscious time to churn the cauldron until eventually the liquid seeps over.

It’s mostly unintentional. Slightly. It probably wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t of insisted on filling the silence with small talk, showing Zayn the stars he watches every night.

“I’ve been thinking,” he starts, because it has to start somewhere; it’s mostly rambling alongside a cool breeze of air that feels good against his skin, “and it makes sense, but it’s not like I could’ve said anything before. Like, I could’ve told Harry, yeah, but that wouldn’t’ve done a bit of good because he’d only stare at me sadly or something like that. He wouldn’t actually tell me; or maybe he would, but it’d only be out of respect than what would be right.”

“Liam-”

His hand finds Zayn’s quickly enough, fingers intertwining and squeezing every so often just to feel that he’s there. Their arms already brush against each other, skin against skin, even if it isn’t much. Zayn’s presence is heavy, but Liam knows it might disappear the moment he continues.

Regardless, he does. “When I try to replay those events in my head, I’m almost positive I see them a lot more dramatic than it actually was, but then I think about before it happened too - and I know I’m not crazy, no matter how absurd this might sound - but I think you were given a decoy.” And Liam expects him to understand immediately, pull away and ask what the fuck he means.

But it doesn’t happen, and Liam soon finds it’s because Zayn actually doesn’t get what he means. The eyes boring into the side of his face are only minor details that prove the point. “What?” he asks. “What are you getting at?” Zayn’s tone doesn’t sound any which way. Neutral, probably, but not angry or upset.

“The phone call. You remember that, right? Said you had to go and you left me at the Range-”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“I know,” Liam silences him. “I know, Zayn. I know. And I don’t blame you; I don’t.” He doesn’t turn to face him; the stars are the only things in his line of vision because it’s easier this way, easier to face the truth when he can see the limitless possibilities of hope and futures. Of everything. It’s there, written into the sky, and as much as Zayn is supposed to be those things, he pales in comparison to the vastness that lays over them both. “You were doing what you thought you needed to do, but it’s what I warned you about, wasn’t it? How there’s always so much more than meets the eye, and they pulled the rug out from under us so fast we hardly blinked. You left me alone, and they took their best shot and won.”

His voice, barely audible, nearly cracks again, but Zayn tensing up stops it. He stays like that for seconds, which seem like minutes when the only thing that can be heard is the rustling of the leaves on the trees, until Zayn moves, so quick until he’s got Liam’s face in his grip, eyes steely and narrowed. “Don’t,” he says, fingers leaving little indentations on Liam’s face from pressing down. It mildly hurts, but Liam knows Zayn wouldn’t give a damn if he said otherwise, not with him draped over his body, obviously trying to make a point. “They _haven’t_ won shit, or need I remind you that I’m the one who put a bullet between his eyes. Sacrifices, Liam, must all be made, but you never should’ve been there. Never should’ve been touched, and they may have done so,” he lets go of Liam then, hands trailing down to lightly grasp the side of Liam’s neck, “gotten to you faster than I ever could’ve, but they paid. It’s done, and the blood on my hands belongs to you too. So regardless of phone calls and ill-timed reactions, I paid my dues back to you because you allowed it. Don’t you fucking dwell on then. My mistakes are mine alone, and I will gladly live with that if it means you quit worrying and if you stop trying to rationalize everything.” Zayn’s tongue quickly darts out of his mouth to lick his lips before he shifts, the weight of his body pressing down against Liam’s just a little more. “You said it yourself; what’s done is done.”

“I get it,” Liam replies softly afterwards. “I think I do, at least. But there are leftovers from what happened that I can’t ignore, Zayn. I stare at them everyday, and I wonder what you think and if you see it too.”

Zayn’s focus shifts away from Liam’s eyes and down his face. Because it’s dark, Liam doesn’t really know how much he can see, but he does feel the way that Zayn’s hand eventually slides up under his shirt. His initial reaction is to push Zayn off of him because he’s startled at the sudden contact. He’d rather not have Zayn’s fingers ghosting over the bandage that hides the cut, still raw and bruised. It doesn’t hurt so much as it is a dull ache now, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s there, and it’s gruesome. Liam hates it.

“You’re not supposed to hurt, Liam,” Zayn whispers suddenly, the dark of the night shading his face while the moon creates a glow around the frame of his body.

Liam tilts his chin up, more determined, defiant now that Zayn’s feeling around the most sensitive part of his body. He’s a lot more vulnerable than he lets on, can’t believe that he feels as if he’s exposing himself much more than he had the first night they’d had sex. This is different, unusual.

Zayn leans down to press a kiss against Liam’s neck, near his birthmark, as if he’s memorized the exact spot it resides. He doesn’t just stop there though; he pulls at Liam’s shirt so that it exposes his collar bone too, nips and licks gently so that he can taste Liam on the tip of his tongue. It’s foreign to him, unfamiliar from going so long without the other man under him, but the thought settles into the pit of his stomach, curls and warms his chest.

It doesn’t take long to have Liam breathless, fingers finding their way into Zayn’s hair. He’s close, and there. And something within Liam clicks, like he finally realizes that the shapes-colored bruises left behind by another man will never deter Zayn from marking him again, helping him feel whole because he’s the only other person who mildly understands what had happened, what he’d gone through.

“Then make me feel good, Zayn,” Liam whispers. “I want you to make me feel good.”

Zayn hums against his skin, nodding. “Yeah, alright. Anything for you.” And after that, it’s more moans than words, with Zayn following through for Liam because he couldn’t before.

He trails his hands over Liam, keeping his mouth in contact with skin, afraid to let go. Liam’s certainly not complaining, and by the time Zayn’s felt him up, hand now awfully close to his intended destination, he can’t help but feel relaxed, mind off of everything except anticipation.

“I’d like to fuck you out here sometime,” Zayn says as he sits up, tugging at the button on Liam’s jeans. He won’t take them off, just pull them down enough to get to what he wants.

“Zayn Malik, a romantic?” Liam counters, snickering into the back of his hand.

The boy in question mock-laughs, now messing with the zipper. “Don’t think I can be?” He’s not hurt, not by a long shot, and maybe it’s just mindless, filler conversation so it doesn’t seem so quiet out, but Zayn would like to believe that he’s a decent guy, at least for Liam. He deserves that much, he knows, and so far, what he’s given him, has been nothing but shit. Zayn can do better; he knows he can, and this is a start.

“If you’re talking about a gang leader, involved with illegal activities, who goes out of his way to actually protect the people he loves, then,” Liam pauses, bites at his lower lip, “I guess we’ll see.”

A smirk slides over Zayn’s face, eyes turning wicked, mischievous even. “Then I guess we will.” He gets through the obstacles just in time to palm Liam, a gesture that he feels backs up his statement.

Liam bucks up in response, cock already red and hard. The fingers that take him are rough, but it feels nice, and yet it only gets better when Zayn leans down without a warning to lick him. It’s just a quick movement, tongue already behind his lips when Liam finally looks down. The other man is nestled in between his legs, palm wrapped around the case of his dick with a gleam in his eye that has Liam raising his brow.

“Out here?” he questions, even though he has no real complaints.

Zayn snorts, “Of fucking course. S’not like you didn’t know. Think of it as a preview.” And then he moves again, mouth wrapping around the head of Liam’s cock. It’s not much, but it’s enough for Liam’s toes to curl, wanting more of that wetness all around him.

“Zayn,” he chokes, it becoming increasingly difficult to concentrate.

In response, Zayn only takes him in deeper, tongue sliding against the underside of Liam’s length until he can’t take much more. And then after, he just waits; Liam grows impatient because Zayn’s not doing anything, and he wants that so very much, but he’s also enjoying the way he’s being playful, testing Liam’s patience. “Fuck, Zayn, if you don’t-”

He slides off, mouth slick with spit until that’s not the only thing Liam notices. Zayn may be a tease, but there’s nothing better than that anyway. He’s waiting, eyebrow raised in question while he conveniently rubs the head of Liam’s prick against his jaw. The line is sharp, dark with stubble that Zayn’s kept clean; although it’s not that way much anymore, not when Liam’s already leaking pre-cum that spills over and catches onto Zayn’s facial hair.

Liam tenses up and blinks rapidly so that he can focus. He’ll cum soon; god knows he will, and part of him doesn’t care if it’s too quick. “Goddamnit, Zayn. You can’t,” he growls, reaching down to wrap his hand in Zayn’s hair. “You can’t fucking look like that and act coy. Stop it.”

It does nothing but spur Zayn on. He takes Liam into his mouth again because it’s for Liam, and he wants to. Likes the feel, the taste. Zayn’s learned long ago that pleasure doesn’t directly derive from body parts, but more so the experience. There are a variety of feel-good sources, and Zayn would be lying if he said this wasn’t one of them. No matter his position, or the way that he looks - not one to sit on his knees and listen - this feels good; it feels right having Liam suck in a harsh breath, Zayn’s fingers curling into the side of Liam’s exposed hip, sucking him down and filling his mouth with cock.

He could get used to this, could definitely get used to it.

With Liam’s fingers still in his hair, Zayn doesn’t pull away again. He goes for it, hollows his cheeks, swirls his tongue, fondles Liam’s balls in his hand for good measure - as if he wasn’t doing a good enough job with Liam moaning like a fucking bitch. Even when Liam pulls at his hair, tries so hard to get the words out that he’s going to cum soon, Zayn still doesn’t let up as he sucks, as Liam eventually fills his mouth with spunk. He ends up having to hold Liam down by his hips, too afraid of him floating away while he gets him off.

Liam ends up with a string of _thank yous_ flowing off his tongue because he’s a polite bastard. Although, Zayn hears none of it as he finishes Liam off, licking at his cock until he’s sure he’s swallowed everything before moving away to tuck him back into place. He then settles for Liam’s mouth because it might just be the next best thing, if he’s honest, and it stays there between the two of them. Zayn doesn’t allow Liam to return the favor, doesn’t need it because he’s happy to see Liam so pliant, tension out of his body as he stares up at Zayn with a little bit of wonder and a little bit of gratitude.

Lazy, tasteful kisses ensue afterwards. Liam’s pretty sure this is all he’ll ever need.

+

Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, a few stray pieces framing her face. She’s concentrating, brow furrowed while the tip of her tongue pokes out from behind her lips.

And Liam’s being a little bitch because he’s continuously making noises about how much his scar hurts.

“Just peel off the bandage, Liam,” Veronica says.

He’s cleaned it before, with Veronica’s help, of course, but just as he edges his finger over the withered edge so he can pull it back, he frowns and drops his hand. “I can’t.”

“You can, and you will.” She’s stern, like a mother, snapping her fingers together. “Just do it and get it over with.”

“It’s gonna hurt-“

“Liam, c’mon.” By now, she’s stopped messing with her hair, leaning against the sink to look down at him. It’s not very nice from this view, Liam thinks, because he shouldn’t be made to feel like a child. “I’d clean it for you-“

“Right. Harry. Okay.” Liam rolls his eyes and knows that it’s not really her fault. She’s leaving with Harry to go god knows where while he’s left to deal with the aftermath of something he thinks is stressful.

Really though, he’s being difficult more than anything else, but right now, he’s not in the mood to deal with blatant reminders of shit he’d rather not think about. This being one of them.

“I’ll get to it. It has to be done.”

Veronica beams at him. “Good, otherwise I would’ve gotten Zayn.”

“Shit,” Liam throws out. That’s enough to shut him up. It’s the last thing he really needs. As far as he knows, Zayn’s still sleeping, and Liam would rather keep it that way, especially after he’d found out that the gang leader had been having bouts of insomnia. “Have a good time, then.”

“Sure,” is the last thing he hears before she’s gone. Liam’s just glad his mood isn’t focused on her, especially with the fact that she gets to leave the house, and he’s still stuck here.

Liam’s tried asking Zayn, pretty much begged, but there’s no hope for him yet. At least, not until he’s completely healed, and Zayn’s got things under control. As far as Liam knows, they’re hours out of town, settled into Veronica’s little place because the bird lives on her own. Liam hadn’t been rude enough to ask her why, but Zayn had explained his situation. His life.

It was vague, much too vague for Liam to really understand anything, but from the gist of it he’d learned that when Zayn was younger, Veronica hadn’t necessarily lived by their household rules, the immediate rebel in the making until she ended up ill. At the time, they couldn’t bail her out of her situation, too expensive, and Zayn remembered the exact moment he knew he could help. The day he’d been offered to take a job that wasn’t strictly legal, that lead to Veronica fleeing in an attempt to die alone, and Zayn chasing after her because he wouldn’t let her go so easily.

And then his name ended twisted up with the wrong kind of people, even further than selling a bit of dope on the side. From there on out, it’d been a battle of bruises, guns, and drugs.

For Veronica. Always for his darling sister.

It’s not long after that Liam hears the front door close, which breaks his train of thought, and then he’s left alone in a quiet house that isn’t strictly empty. It feels like it nonetheless.

Liam decides to go for it though, finds the end of the bandage, ripping it off in one fell swoop. It hurts, the stickiness pulling at his skin, but the air that surrounds what’s left of the wound feels nice. The stitching is still in place - albeit they're falling out now, alongside various scabs, but mostly the skin is knitted back together in such a way that Liam doesn’t think he’ll have to worry about it all coming undone. It’s only a couple of inches long, but the phantom ache that rests there doesn’t leave him with any favorable feelings.

He’s just reaching for a cloth when there’s a soft knock that startles him. The bathroom door isn’t closed, and Liam looks up to find Zayn there, standing in the doorway, looking a bit shy. His hair is mussed, sleep evident in his eyes, but there’s the corner of his mouth that’s pulled upwards that lets Liam know he’s okay.

“You want some help?” Zayn asks. His brow furrows once he glances down to Liam’s side. And for a moment, it looks like he’s hesitant to take a step forward, not quite positive as to whether Liam would object to him helping, but then Zayn forgoes his thoughts and enters the room anyway.

“Zayn, you don’t-“

“Let me do it.” It’s not sharp, his tone. Just a demand that doesn’t leave any room for an argument. Which is fine, but Liam would rather shy away from Zayn, pull back so he can’t see what he looks like.

Looking at Liam’s face is one thing, but this, well, it’ll be a permanent fixture. The stitches will fall out, and the bandage will be removed at some point, but the skin will always be red and roughened. That’s just something Liam’s not ready for Zayn to see.

“Turn.” Zayn motions with his hand, kneeling down before Liam, but his arm is in the way. It blocks Zayn from what’s left of the wound, and he can tell that the other male is concerned. “Liam, don’t do this right now.”

“I can do it.”

“Don’t be a child.”

“ _Zayn_ ,” Liam whines. He reaches down for Zayn’s wrist, holding it tightly. “I don’t want you to see it.”

Zayn’s tongue darts out of his mouth, wetting his lips and trying to understand. “I’ve seen worse, you know. This isn’t that big of a deal.”

And the context is wrong, but Liam grimaces anyway. “It _is_ a big deal, to me, at least.”

“You have to get through the worse to get to the better.” Which has Liam backing down because if anyone knows what they’re talking about, it’s Zayn. Hell and back, that’s all Liam’s thoughts are.

So he settles himself, moving in a way that gives Zayn full access to clean and disinfect the past. Liam hisses at the contact at first, but Zayn soothes him and continues on with what he knows to do. It takes a little longer than what Veronica would do, but Liam thinks that’s partially Zayn’s fault for wanting to be careful. Nonetheless, the job gets done, and Liam’s settled with cleanliness.

“Do you want me to make you something to eat?” Liam murmurs as Zayn discards the rag and washes his hands.

He shakes his head though, his hair actually moving because there is no gel in it keeping it in one place. “I’d rather you come back to bed with me.”

Liam tsks, but he follows Zayn anyway, hand in hand. It’s only mid day, Liam’s sure of it, but it’s fine. The house is cool; the sun is up, and the both of them settle onto the bed easily.

They lay there though, not talking, just breathing, Liam watching as Zayn’s eyelashes flutter closed. Liam’s positive he won’t fall asleep again, but he nudges him just in case. “You’ve got any plans?” he whispers.

“Well,” Zayn adds. “Keeping you safe is on the top of my to-do list.”

Liam huffs out a laugh. “That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s up in the air, really.”

Which is not a satisfying answer, but by then, Liam’s distracted, paying attention to the fact that Zayn’s extremely warm in such a soft way that’s got him smiling gingerly.

“What?” Zayn asks. His eyes are open now, although they’re more hooded and sleepy.

Liam just shakes his head. “Just thinking.”

What follows is narrowed eyes and a pinch to Liam’s side. “You shouldn’t do that too much; you might hurt yourself.”

He ends up rolling away from Zayn, towards the end of the bed so he’s out of his reach. “Funny,” he replies, tilting his head to the side before playfully nudging his thigh with a socked toe. “I wonder what they’d think if they saw you like this.”

A dark flash of something akin to anger crosses over Zayn’s expression, but it’s only a fleeting moment before it’s disappeared. “Weak, maybe.” He shrugs, blinks and stares ahead until Liam follows his vision to the corner of the bed, where Zayn’s jacket is hanging off of the bedpost. “In love.”

Liam ends up sucking in a sharp breath, and while it’s in his nature to comment, a question on the edge of his tongue, he doesn’t. He leaves it alone and tries to direct his thoughts to something Zayn might be more comfortable with, something close to the same hemisphere of the admission, but relatively more in Zayn’s league. “Have you let other people wear this?” Liam asks instead, directing both Zayn’s and his attention elsewhere.. He slowly reaches across Zayn’s feet to grab the leather, the texture worn and smooth in his hand.

There’s a purse on Zayn’s lips, like he’s hesitating answering Liam. And it’s really not anything serious; the truth doesn’t have to strictly mean anything, but Liam waits it out. In the meantime, he pulls the jacket around his body, slowly shrugging it on and shivering once it settles over his bare shoulders.

“A few.”

He’s not startled; he shouldn’t be, not with Zayn’s repertoire.

“Oh.” It’s something small, maybe a little sad, but Liam can’t help it as he starts to take it off.

That is, until Zayn snaps his fingers, eyes narrowed and dark again. Except this time, Liam sees a completely new expression. “But there’s always an exception.”

Of course Liam’s completely lost. He stops moving, intrigued. “And what’s that?”

Zayn, well, he looks downright guilty, but only in the best way possible. His brows release their furrowed state, mouth slightly parted, tongue flicking out as he eyes Liam and grins. “Because you’ll be the first I fuck while wearing it.”

And Liam’s got no time to think because Zayn’s sitting up and latching onto the lapels of his leather jacket, pulling Liam down on top of him before he’s attacking his lips so sweetly.

“You-” there’s Zayn’s mouth on the corner of his lips, “mean-” and another one just on his jaw, “that?”

Zayn snickers, but doesn’t answer as he pushes Liam away so he can sit back. “Off.” He gestures to the sweatpants, and Liam flushes.

“That’s not fair though. You’re fully clothed.”

“Yeah,” Zayn tugs on the material. “And you’ve got my leather on.”

Liam tries with all his might not to squeak in surprise as Zayn’s hands dip into his sweats, gently brushing the inside of his though. “No one’s home.”

He’s off the bed, shoving away the material that’s in the way of his half hard cock before he’s settled over Zayn. The gang leader’s hands immediately find their place where thigh meets hip, thrusting upwards just slightly so Liam can feel him through his own clothing. “You _made_ them leave, didn’t you?” He’s just managed to shuffle backwards a bit, easily able to remove Zayn’s shirt and get his bottom half unclothed. Soon after, he’s working a steady hand over Zayn. “That’s a bit rude, wasn’t it?”

Zayn snorts. “I didn’t,” he insists, breath catching in his throat as soon as he feels himself swell within Liam’s hand. “They opted to leave, and now I’m just taking advantage. Don’t you wanna?”

There’s no need for Liam to answer, not when he’s got Zayn like this, worked up and pliant underneath him. “I’m gonna need something,” he whispers when he leans down to tongue Zayn’s neck, little nips and licks to the skin to further Zayn’s state of mind.

“Probably in the bathroom. _Shit_ , Liam.”

He’s gone again, off of Zayn to find what he’s looking for. It’s easily accessible, and there should be a lot of thoughts as to why that is, but it’s a non-issue. Especially when he comes back to the bedroom to find Zayn stroking himself lazily. “Could probably get off just looking at you.”

Liam’s nose scrunches, uncapping the lube and smearing it onto his fingers. “Later, maybe. Want you in me.” And he wastes no time, pushing a finger into himself, so tight and _hot_. Zayn joins soon afterwards though, when Liam’s just getting used to the feel of the stretching, Zayn sits up and helps Liam so easily.

So the only thing Liam can do at this point is rock down on those fingers, trying to feel something and growing frustrated when it’s not enough. “Fuck,” Zayn murmurs, and one would think it’s because of Liam and the way he’s so ready and willing, but he’s concentrated on Liam’s face, carefully watching the way that it ticks and twitches when there’s a bout of pleasure that travels through his body. “You look so good, babe.”

When Zayn draws his hand back, Liam gives up too, shoving the bottle of lube into Zayn’s palm so he can slick up his dick and help move Liam into place. “Slowly,” Liam states, hand curling around Zayn’s shoulder.

The tip of Zayn’s cock slides in so easily, with Liam carefully pushing down until his body gives way, and he’s completely settled. “You gonna make me do all the work?”

Zayn smirks, but keeps his grip on Liam without an official answer. So Liam takes that as a _yes_ , although he’s quite positive Zayn’s going to have trouble keeping still soon.

At first, he grinds down because Liam’s relatively new at this with Zayn. He likes and wants to get it right, not necessarily trying to make anything special, just wants it to feel good for them both. So he rocks, and he pulls up, and he swivels his hips until he find something that he can maintain. Which turns out that using his thighs to lift himself up, with the help of Zayn’s hands, feel better, because not only does he rise up enough to have Zayn’s cockhead just inside his entrance, but as soon as he slides back down, that little bundle of nerves, so sensitive at this point, is brushed.

They work up a steady rhythm, the creaking of the bed, and the metal of Zayn’s jacket not drowning out Liam’s puffs of air, and Zayn’s inability to keep quiet no matter how hard he tries to bite his lip.

Liam also distracts him by sucking on them too, making Zayn’s lips swollen and wet before he licks inside his mouth. He can already feel the tightness in his stomach, the need to come burning a hole through his body. So Liam pushes Zayn down against the bed, rests the palms of his hands on either side of the other male’s head before using his position as leverage to grind down on Zayn, over and over again.

“L- _ah_ ,” Zayn stutters, bites the inside of his cheek as he watches the grin unfurl before his eyes, lighting up Liam’s entire face because he knows he’s doing good. “Just-“

“It’s okay,” Liam says, and it gets impossibly hard to speak after that, especially with the accumulation of heat from the leather against his upper body and the pleasure running through his veins. Eventually, Liam slows down and speeds up, taunting Zayn just before he’s choking on a sob, Zayn having finally come to some amount of sense by gripping Liam’s length.

It’s not a fight, per se, not a battle of wills, or to see who’s better. But it’s definitely something as Zayn swipes at the pre-cum, smearing it around Liam’s prick.

After that, Liam knows he’s gone. All he has to do is look down at Zayn, see how his pupils are blown wide, cheeks faintly flushed with an undertone of red, little beads of sweat touching his hairline, and he’s gone. Liam’s fingernails dig into the comforter, gripping around the blanket in an attempt to hold onto something. Zayn works him through it with small encouragements of _c’mon, babe_ and _so sweet for me, Liam_.

And he keeps going until Liam’s way too sensitive and continues to thrust up into his hand, muscles tensing and closing up around him so that Zayn himself is caught off guard from the sudden tightness that Liam is giving. It’s what brings on his orgasm too, having Liam there, with his spunk covering his lower belly. It feels right and messy, just perfect.

They both sit there, reeling in the afterglow of bliss until Zayn’s hand, the one not covered in cum, quickly finds the side of Liam’s neck. He laughs softly, a warm glow radiating from his skin and his entire face until Liam’s there with him, joining him with a smile of his own. It’s comforting to know they both feel good like this, that Liam is easily distracted, can forgo the worries that might’ve possibly kept him away from Zayn like this. The bandage, obviously, is still there, but it’s distant in Liam’s mind, and the fear of the bruises and being a burden rather than something Zayn cherished, is put to rest. For now, at least.

They take a few more moments to calm themselves, just staring and being. It’s nice, knowing that there is nothing stopping them. There’re only the sounds of birds outside, a gentle breeze, and the warm sun that casts a nice light through the windows.

It’s peaceful for the first time in a long time, just like it typically is when Liam’s out looking at the stars. It’s a different feeling altogether though; it’s not shadowed by the dark of the night, but bright and open. And Liam thinks, not for the first time, that he can finally see. What that is, it’s hard to pinpoint because there’s a lot of physical things he can count - Zayn including - but it’s everything in between.

Like the sense that everything’s going to be okay.

The first real movement is brought upon by Zayn. It’s gentle, with no hesitation, and Liam welcomes the moment that Zayn’s thumb caresses his skin, gently rubbing over his cheekbone. “I don’t know what’s going to happen; I don’t,” Zayn starts off saying, simple but soft, and without Liam even asking. “There’re police reports and whatnot, but actually pinpointing this type of stuff, well,” he swallows the thickness in his throat, mildly worried that he shouldn’t be so open about this with Liam, but hell, if anyone deserves to know, it’s him. They’re in this now, the both of them, and Zayn’s got to learn to include him, not just for his own sake, but also for Liam’s. “I, uh,” he chews on his lip, finally feels when Liam slides off of his member before settling into his side, close and safe. “I thought maybe we could stay here for awhile, until things cool down. Maybe see your family, or something?”

It’s a whisper, almost quiet, like Liam might oppose the suggestion, but Zayn should’ve known he wouldn’t’ve because well, yeah; Liam needs to visit home, tell them that he’s okay. His mother, at least, will notice the difference in himself, but Liam won’t reveal it to anyone. He’ll lie, something he’s never really been good at doing, for the sake of Zayn.

And as he stares over at him, Zayn with his stupid fucking pretty eyelashes, his pink mouth and flushed skin, Liam knows he’s in this for the long run. Goddamnit, he knows better, that faint voice in the back of his mind that screams _run_ , _run_. But he won’t.

Without a doubt, Liam kinda, sorta, _definitely_ feels like he has a place where he belongs.

+


End file.
